


Piercing

by gohomesam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex, Student Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gohomesam/pseuds/gohomesam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel college AU. Dean enters the library, a place he rarely visits. As he sits in complete boredom waiting for his younger brother to finish reading, he finds a pair of intense blue eyes piercing into his with an unwavering stare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

He was at the library. Going to the library was not some extra special event; that is, unless your name was Dean Winchester. This was his first time stepping foot inside of the giant room of books and book lovers since his first day of college orientation. He found that he immediately wanted to leave.

Several heads lifted to give him quizzical looks as he walked by and he could practically hear what each was thinking.

_What is a football scholarship doing in here?  
His coach must have made him come to study because he's failing a class._

_He must be confused._

_He must be lost._

Actually, none of those were the reason that he was here. His presence at the library was solely to collect his younger, geeky brother, Sam. In truth, Sam was only a high school student and had no place within the university. However, he was obsessed with reading and his addiction had now exceeded his collection, the city’s collection, and his own high school's collection of reading material. This left him only with the college library and after pleading with Dean over several days without relent, he finally wore his older brother down enough to have his wish granted.

Dean had dropped him off before heading to his 8:00 AM class and it was now 5:00 PM. Finally spotting the tousled brown hair of his younger brother, he was annoyed to find his nose buried in a large volume of text.

“Jesus, Sammy, how can you still be reading you've been here like 10 hours,” Dean said impatiently as he approached the 17-year-old.

Sam looked up with surprise from his book. “It's already time to go?” he asked in a slow, distracted tone, grabbing his cellphone to check the time and squinting at it as if he were seeing it wrong. “And I've only been here for 9 hours.”

“Yeah, whatever, get moving.”

“I just need to finish this chapter,” he looked up at Dean, his eyes shining with his famous puppy dog look that never failed to get him exactly what he wanted. “This one is really popular and in the system you can see it's always out. It might not be here next time I come and it's really interesting. Please can I finish this chapter?”

Dean gave a loud exaggerated sigh, pulling a chair out impatiently. “Fine, but you better speed read, Sammy.”

Sam beamed, shoving his face back into the pages in front of him. Dean rolled his eyes and began scanning the room with obvious boredom. He had never particularly been a fan of reading and although he had a few novels he once enjoyed in the past, he had no desire to pick up anything new and start reading it. He scanned through the room quickly to make sure there weren't any potential females (there weren't) and then leaned back into his chair with another sigh.

He began running the plays his team had gone over in practice the day before when his eyes suddenly fell on two staring blue orbs. A boy with shaggy black hair and intensely blue eyes was unabashedly staring at him from a couple of tables away. He wore a tan trench coat and held a book that looked as if it had been run over, thrown into a river and then chewed by small rodents in his hands. Dean cocked an eyebrow but the eyes didn't falter; they stayed fixed on him, only moving to blink. Just as he was about to say something to the strange boy, Sam slammed his book shut and stood up.

“Okay! We can go! Thank you for being patient,” Sam said happily as he gathered up his things and shoved them into a backpack.

“Finally,” Dean said in a distracted voice. He had looked away from the blue-eyed starer for a second when Sam had startled him and now as he looked back, the intense eyes were cast down as if he were fully immersed in the book he was holding.

_What a freak_ , Dean thought.

* * *

 

Throughout the week, Dean continued to enter the library to fetch his younger brother and each and every time he found a pair of blue eyes boring into him. Normally he would brush it off when someone looked in his direction. He had always been looked at because, well, he was incredibly attractive. Usually it was females giggling behind their hands and turning to their friends to talk about him in excited whispers but every now and then he also received male attention. He didn't mind; in fact, he was flattered by it. He could have anyone he wanted and that could give a person a bit of a cocky attitude.

Anyway, the fact that the attention he was getting in the library every day was from a boy wasn't what bothered him. It was the unwavering gaze of the particular eyes looking at him that was unsettling. No, not at him. _Into_ him. It was as if the boy sitting two tables away knew every little secret he carried within his soul.

This bizarre stranger continued his routine every day until finally, Dean had had enough. This Friday had not gone well for the older Winchester brother. He had woken up with his head pounding and his gut clenching: the symptoms of the terrible nightmares that sometimes plagued him. He rarely recalled just what occurred in these dreams, but he had enough images in his brain upon awakening to know they revolved around his mother and father.

The Winchesters had lost both of their parents. Their mother was first. She had been diagnosed with stomach cancer one day and within a few short and very sickly months she passed on. Dean had been too young to fully understand that his mother was gone and would wander through the house calling her name while his father lay passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey. Sam didn't remember her at all, however, and Dean honored her memory by passing down his memories of her to his younger brother.

Then, their father had left them as well only a year ago. Dean blamed himself for the death of their father. Now, he wasn't delusional; he knew that it wasn't truly his doing but what had happened prior to his father's car accident left Dean with the taste of guilt in his mouth. They had been fighting over Sam, Dean could recall. He remembered every detail and often played the argument in his head over and over like some sick movie. Sam was starting to talk about moving out to go to college in California and their father was adamant in his refusal to accept it. Sam was angry but kept his silence and almost seemed to accept his fate to stay with his father and brother but Dean, ever the protective older sibling, would not allow his brother's dreams get crushed before he even tried to make them come true. He had chosen that night to confront his father to force him into giving Sam his blessing. The broken man was at the bottle again and fought with Dean for a long time before grabbing his keys and storming out of the house in a drunken rage.

These were the thoughts that entered his mind during the night and it was no wonder his mood was so low as he drove himself and Sam to the college that morning. He had driven to school with Sam in the passenger seat and gone to his first class of the day five minutes late. After receiving his test with a giant D written on it, his already poor mood dropped even further. He was tired from the sleep he had been deprived of thanks to his ridiculous nightmares and gave one of his worst performances in practice as a result. His coach talked to him in the locker room in front of the entire team just to knock a few more points off of his happiness meter.

Needless to say, he wasn't feeling very nice or patient at the end of the day as he walked past the entrance of the library. Anyone who raised their heads as he passed received a menacing glare for their efforts. When he approached Sam and was asked to “Wait just a few minutes, please! I'm almost done!” by his younger brother the bookworm he almost lost his grip and started ripping his own hair from his head. Instead, he took a deep breath and plopped into the chair he customarily used to wait.

That's when good ol' blue eyes made the wrong choice and started his staring session. Dean took one look at the freak and said a rude word under his breath. Making a very impulsive decision, he stood up suddenly and noisily and practically charged over to the boy who sat a few tables away to confront him.

Slamming his hands on the table, Dean glared straight into the other boy's face and growled, “What the _hell_ are you looking at?”

In response, he tilted his shaggy black head, furrowing his eyebrows quizzically, and said, “I believe I was looking in your general direction.” Dean was slightly taken aback at the deep, clear voice that came from the boy's wide mouth. And at the look of his lips... Dean found himself glancing at them longer than necessary. He felt a strange clench in his abdomen at the sight of them but he forcefully ignored it and coughed, lifting his eyes back up to meet the other boy's angrily.

“In my _direction_? Are you serious!? You've been practically _staring_ at me all week! Who the fuck does that? It's fucking creepy, dude,” Dean said incredulously.

As if he was attempting to infuriate Dean as far as possible, his face broke out into an amused smile. Just as Dean was about to punch him in the face, he brought his hand up in a gesture expressing the wish to shake hands. “I'm Castiel,” he offered.

Dean looked at the outstretched hand like it was an alien object that might infect him if he made physical contact with it. “Well hello Castiel I'm so pleased to finally meet you,” he said with exaggerated politeness before resuming his attitude and adding, “What the hell kind of name is that?”

Instead of being offended as Dean had expected, he simply gestured to the chair across from where he sat. “Why don't you have a seat? I believe it would be easier to converse if we were both at the same level.” He indicated Dean's current position of standing over him.

Dean's brows raised. The way that this, what was it, Castiel? The way that Castiel spoke was as strange as the way that he had been staring. He found himself sitting before he even realized it and silently cursed himself for the action. He also cursed himself for several other actions. Like the way it took far too much effort to keep his eyes off of the lips of the boy in front of him. It was absolutely ridiculous. “What makes you think I want to _converse_ with you?” Dean asked finally as he wrenched his eyes from Castiel's mouth.

“Well, you've elected to seat yourself so it seems you're somewhat interested in talking to me. I don't mean to presume that I know what you're thinking but as they say, actions do speak louder than words,” Castiel said without missing a beat. The grin that followed this statement held not even an ounce of cockiness. He spoke very matter-of-factly, merely stating his thoughts regarding the current situation without any sarcasm; he was not trying to be a smart ass. Even so, it pissed Dean off.

Waving away Castiel's ridiculous reasoning, Dean plunged back into the subject he had come over for in the first place. “Whatever. Why have you been looking at me, freak?”

“You're very blunt,” he said at first. Then, Castiel let his eyes drift off in thought for a few moments before offering his response to the question. Just as Dean was about to repeat his inquiry with a few non-polite additions, Castiel spoke. “You have a very interesting face, Dean,” His eyes were as intense as ever as they found Dean's once more. He spoke each word very carefully, as if still unsure whether the words he had chosen to express his thoughts were appropriate or not.

“Dean?” The quiet voice of his younger brother questioned from behind him. Castiel immediately picked his book up, opening it and directing his eyes to its pages as if they hadn't just been piercing into Dean's.

Dean coughed to regain his voice as he spun around in his seat to look at Sam. “Hey, you finally done?” He stood when he received a nod. “Great! Let's go!” he said, relief more than apparent in his voice. He needed to get away from this strange boy with his strange name and strange words.

“Goodbye, Dean,” said the deep, mysterious voice of Castiel as Dean and Sam walked away from the table. Dean gave him a quick nod instead of saying anything and rushed out of the library with Sam in tow.

“Who was that guy?” Sam inquired as soon as they stepped into the sunlight outside of the building.

“Nobody,” Dean replied instantly. “Where in the hell did we park?” Dean knew exactly where they had parked because they always parked in the same spot but he needed to change the subject. He wanted to place Castiel, his captivating mouth and deep intoxicating voice as far away from his brain as was possible. He just couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of those eyes.

* * *

 

_You have a very interesting face, Dean._

It was several hours later as he lay in his bed about to fall asleep that Dean realized Castiel had called him by his name without ever being informed what it was.

_Who the hell is this guy?_ Dean thought as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dangers of diners and nicknames.

Dean woke on Saturday to the sound of a car alarm loud and obnoxious outside of his window. After a few moments, it ceased its wailing but it had already done its job and he was wide awake. He extended his arms above his head and groaned as he stretched his sleepy body before sitting up in his bed and running a hand through his hair. Just as he was about to throw his legs over the side of the mattress and climb out, his door opened and his younger brother stepped into his room.

 

“Oh good, you're already up. I'm headed out to meet up with some friends, but I made,” he lifted his hand with his thumb outstretched over his shoulder to point behind his body, “some breakfast if you're hungry.”

 

As soon as Sam spoke the word 'breakfast' a waft of delicious smelling bacon drifted into the room. His stomach growled in response. He cocked his eyebrow at Sam. “ _If_ I'm hungry, really?” Dean could not remember even a second of his life where he hadn't been hungry; he had a huge appetite. In fact, if he weren't an athlete and wasn't blessed with his metabolism, Dean could have quite easily rivaled a whale in body mass.

 

The younger Winchester chuckled knowingly as he turned to exit the room. “Well, see ya,” he said, giving a small wave as he walked down the hall. “Bye, Bobby,” Dean heard a few seconds later.

 

Bobby Singer was a long time family friend and had come to be almost like a second father to the Winchester boys. After their father had passed away in an accident, Dean and Sam had had no where to go. Dean only helped out at Bobby's garage when he could and it in no way gave him enough money to get a place of his own. Dean had brooded over it for days until Bobby approached him after his father's funeral and offered up his home. They owed him a lot for taking them in.

 

Dean climbed out of his bed and heard the front door shut about halfway through the hall. As he entered the kitchen, his stomach rumbled again.

 

“Mornin', Bobby,” he greeted the savior himself.

 

Bobby, not bothering to pull his eyes away from the newspaper he was holding, gave a nod. “Mornin', idjit.”

 

Smiling at Bobby's endearing response, Dean helped himself to the rest of the bacon, eggs, and biscuits that Sam had left and sat to begin his process of scarfing them down. “Oh Sammy, yo' mah fav brover,” Dean said out loud, his mouth stuffed full of warm flaky biscuit.

 

“What are you planning on doin' today?” said the deep, gravelly voice of the mechanic beside him.

 

“Anything you need, Bobby,” he replied, to which Bobby grunted.

 

* * *

 

The day went by quickly; days at the garage always did. Dean could throw himself fully into any work handed him, his mind focused only on completing the task as all other thoughts drifted away. It had been vital to his life after his dad died and the guilt of it attempted to destroy him. He could just walk into the garage and ask Bobby what to do and get to working, repressing all of his anger, guilt and hopelessness. Between working at the garage and football, he could easily get through each day without breaking down.

 

That was, until night. Night was different. There were some where he was so exhausted that he fell asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow, but the rest... Well, the rest were different. Laying down and closing his eyes was a trigger for his brain to open up the very worst parts of his memories, the parts that clawed at his stomach and slashed at his heart. The thoughts that he could choke on. When he fell asleep after tossing and turning for hours, the thoughts didn't fall asleep with him. Instead, they plagued his dreams, turning them into nightmares. To wake up gasping and covered in sweat was a part of Dean's normal routine.

 

“It's about time you had a lunch break, son,” Bobby suggested, coming up from behind Dean with a rag. Dean took it from his outstretched hand and wiped the grease from his face and hands, nodding a thank you.

 

He grabbed his keys from the inside of the main office and made for the exit closest to where his car was parked. “You want anything!?” he shouted in Bobby's direction as his hand made contact with the handle of the door.

 

“Just pick me up a burger!”

 

Pushing the door open, he made his way out into the open air, shivering as a cold wind brushed against his face. It was October and it was beginning to get colder with every passing day. Dean pulled his brown leather jacket from the backseat of his beloved car, a black '67 Chevy Impala. It had been his father's car and he passed it onto Dean as soon as he had learned how to drive. It was the one thing that had remained a constant throughout his life and he loved it like it was a family member. Or a lover.

 

Dean kissed the top of the door (yeah, a lover) before opening it and sliding in to start her up.

 

* * *

 

Dean walked into the diner he frequented since moving into Bobby's place, Mom's. He informed the middle-aged waitress that he wanted to order two bacon cheeseburgers to go before sitting at a table to wait. He leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, stretching his legs out in front of himself underneath the white, paint cracked table and let out a soft sigh.

 

Then, suddenly, an electric current went through his body from his head to his toes. It wasn't strong, but it was there. He knew exactly what this feeling meant. His eyes began darting around the room in search of-

 

“What the hell?” he angrily whispered to himself. Sure enough, there they were. Two eyes, the color of the ocean, openly staring. The tan trench coat was there as well and Dean found himself thinking back to all of the times he had seen the boy and each time this weird fashion statement was present in the image. The only missing part of the boy's attire was the old beaten book he usually held in his hands; it had been replaced with today's newspaper. Dean guessed that the strange book must actually belong to the library and not the boy. It was really no wonder that he had it every day since he was always too busy staring at Dean to get any reading done.

 

Dean took a moment to collect himself before making his way over to Castiel. At their previous encounter he had been left speechless from surprise and he had no desire to go through that a second time. As he reached the side of his special admirer's booth, he donned his cockiest smile.

 

“Don't you think you're being a little too obvious there, freak?” On his way over, Castiel had resumed looking into the newspaper he was holding. At Dean's question, he looked up.

 

“Obvious?” he asked.

 

How was this boy's voice, eyes, and entire face and overall demeanor always so intense when the words he spoke were ridiculously simple? The effect on Dean was tremendous; each time Castiel spoke, Dean wanted to hear more, wanted to see those full, pink lips surrounding that wide mouth move to produce more of the deep growling voice that belonged to their owner. With an embarrassing amount of effort Dean managed to fight the blush threatening to stain his cheeks and coughed to clear his throat instead. His face slipped into a smirk, hoping that Castiel could see nothing of what Dean was thinking underneath it.

 

“Just get it over with,” he said, taking a seat across from Castiel. He sunk into the lopsided cushion of the booth and leaned forward with a fake smile. “I'm stalking you Dean,” mocking Castiel's voice, he continued, “I think I have a giant gay crush on you and I want to go on a date, please. I can't even sleep because just the thought of you gets me all hot and bothered.” Dean sat silently as he waited for the boy's response.

 

Just as it had before, the boy's head tilted, his brows furrowed, and his wide mouth frowned with confusion. “I don't think I understand the joke, Dean.”

 

Giving a frustrated groan, Dean rubbed his hand over his face before leaning back once more. “You are the joke, Castiel. Are you friggin' stalking me now? I've never seen you here before,” he indicated the restaurant they were in with a wave of his hand, “and you were staring at me, _again_. If that doesn't scream big fat gay crush then I don't know what does. Well, let me tell you, this is the weirdest way anyone has ever come on to me before and you should really think about changing your methods a little bit.”

 

The boy was silent as he looked at Dean. He didn't seem upset by Dean's words, in fact, he didn't seem to be affected by them whatsoever. It was as if Dean hadn't said anything at all. Just as Dean was starting to think he had broken the poor guy, a waitress approached with a brown bag of food that he'd ordered.

 

“Here you go, honey,” she said, handing the bag over with a flirtatious smile and a wink.

 

“Thank you,” he said, barely glancing up to the waitress as he remained seated and took the bag from her hands.

 

“I'm here nearly every Saturday, Dean,” Castiel said quietly as the waitress walked away.

 

Dean cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. “What?”

 

Suddenly a different waitress, a younger woman with long red hair and huge eyes, approached their booth. Was there really another person coming over to hit on him? He put on his best let-them-down-easy smile and turned to look at her when she pointedly smiled at Castiel.

 

“Hi, Castiel!” she greeted warmly, and Dean's face fell.

 

_Oh, not after me, then._ He quickly removed all traces of his previous intentions from his face, instead looking with a curious fascination at Castiel's interaction with a different human being.

 

Castiel smiled in return, giving her a small wave as he set his newspaper down. “Hello, Anna, is your shift over now?” The girl smiled and nodded, throwing a small bag over her shoulder to indicate her readiness to leave.

 

_Oh, shit. Oh shit shit shit_ , Dean thought. Did Castiel have a girlfriend? A really hot red-head girlfriend? Here Dean had been accusing him of having gay feelings for him and all of this time he's had a woman. That was certainly more than Dean had. Great, now he looked like the one with the giant crush on this strange boy.

 

“This is my...well, this is Dean. Dean, this is my sister, Anna. She is why I'm here every Saturday; I give her a ride home,” Castiel said, pointing to each as he introduced them to one another. Anna smiled and extended her hand to shake Dean's, her warm friendly voice murmuring a “nice to meet you” as she did so.

 

_Ha._

 

“Very, _very_ nice to meet you Anna,” Dean replied, giving the girl a flirtatious wink.

 

She smiled wider, her head shaking slowly in that way that clearly stated that while you may be funny, Dean, and attractive, you are not going to be taking me home any night soon.

 

Castiel rose from his seat, gathering up his newspaper, folding it up, and placing it into his bag. “I suppose we should get going. I have work to do at home,” he paused, looking towards Anna for confirmation and then continued, “It was nice to talk again, Dean. I will see you again I'm sure.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” Anna said, giving him a small wave before heading to the door. As Castiel moved to follow her, Dean caught him by his trench coat and stopped him in his tracks. He gasped in surprise, the sound eliciting a strange tightening in Dean's belly that couldn't quite be explained. It forced him to pause for a moment as Castiel looked back at him questioningly.

 

“Wait a damn minute,” he growled finally, “You still haven't explained what the hell is making you stare at me.”

 

“I told you, Dean, you have a very interesting face.”

 

Dean shook his head angrily. “No, no, none of that bullshit Cas. Do you have a weird crush on me? Just admit it because honestly that is a whole lot less creepy than anything else it could be at this point and who the hell even knows what that is.”

 

“Cas?” he responded.

 

It took Dean a few moments to understand what he was even talking about. Then, he realized that he had just given his admirer a nickname. Not only that, but he had spoken it with the confidence of someone who had been saying that name their entire life. Before Dean could reply, Anna popped her head back through the entrance door of the diner.

 

“Are you coming, Castiel?” she asked, her voice tinted lightly with impatience.

 

“I'll be right there, Anna,” he replied. He then looked down at where Dean was still gripping his trench coat in his fist. Dean let go immediately, not even aware that he had been clenching the garment in his hand the entire time. He felt the repressed blush trying to creep back onto his cheeks and cursed himself for letting it happen.

 

With that, Castiel gave him one last look and swiftly exited the diner, leaving Dean feeling even more confused than he had been at their last encounter. He walked away from the building and drove back to the garage with his brain in a fog.

 

_Cas._


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't go home, not like this.

Following the weird encounter at the diner, the rest of Dean's day passed by without event. He finished his work up at the garage, shared a bottle of beer with Bobby and then later ate dinner with him and his younger brother Sam. Sam had made them grilled ham and cheese sandwiches all golden brown with cheese oozing out of the sides from in between the bread. Then, as a surprise for his older brother, Sam pulled a beautiful present out of the fridge. It had been a giant, delectable, incredibly delicious apple pie and Dean had devoured the majority of it before heading to bed.

 

Yes, his day had resumed quite ordinarily. His night, however, was a different story. Saturday night was the first night Dean woke up sweating with his heart pounding as his fists clenched his sheets without having had a nightmare. Saturday night was the first night in a long time that Dean had woken up with his lower regions inflamed and his lips swollen from the biting of his own teeth. This was because Saturday night was the first night that Dean found Castiel in his dreams.

 

Dean didn't know what had come over him but his fixation on the boy had already gone far enough with the too-long stares at his lips and the reddening of his own cheeks in response to the boy's voice. Now Dean was dreaming of him? He reached up to slide a hand through his hair as he tried to rid his mind of the images it had conjured in his sleep. _Full, pink lips all swollen and wet pressing into his and then trailing down across his jawline to his neck making him shudder and gasp..._

 

His heart was still doing its best to beat out of his chest so he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and allow his body to resume its normal functions. Why had he dreamed _that_ up? He had met Castiel's sister at the diner, a redhead that he admittedly found very attractive. So why was it Castiel's mouth pressed flush against his skin making him moan and gasp? Obviously, Dean had eaten too much pie. He let his head fall back down onto his pillow and closed his eyes, willing his brain to find a place in sleep far away from Castiel's lips.

* * *

 

Dean spent the rest of the week going to school as normal. He resumed foot ball practice, exchanging stupid jokes in the locker room, boring lectures and riding to and from the university alone in his Impala. Sam had returned to his normal high school schedule which allowed Dean to resume his habit of never visiting the campus library. No trench coat, no blue eyes staring, and no awkward, vague comments from beautiful lips-

 

Dean, by Friday, had nearly forgotten the dream that had visited him on Saturday night after his mind had attacked him viciously and without relent throughout the week. Monday, his mother died in his arms, her blood oozing past her lips as her eyes lost their focus. Wednesday, his brother was in the car with his father the night of the accident. Dean spent his night wandering the dark roads looking for him, shouting his name again and again each time louder and more desperate than the last. Thursday night he woke with tears streaming down his face and had had to run to the bathroom to vomit. He didn't even remember what had occurred in his head that night, but the pain stayed with him throughout the morning and most of the afternoon.

 

He welcomed football practice and threw himself into the game, enjoying the sweat that poured from his pores, the feel of the grass and dirt beneath his feet and the ball in his hands. He ran and caught and threw and sweat his way through it, giving his best performance as he always tried to do. Afterward, he took a shower in the locker room, laughing and joking with his team mates as he changed clothes.

 

“She was _so_ hot,” Parks said excitedly “I swear I almost came in my pants when she looked at me.”

 

“You, my friend, lack stamina. You're not gonna please any woman like that,” Dean teased, laughing at the expression on his face.

 

“Fuck you, dude.”

 

This made Dean and the surrounding team members laugh even more.

 

“Yeah well anyway,” Parks said, changing the subject, “I'm having a party on Saturday. There will be lots of hot chicks and plenty of booze. I already have two kegs and there will probably be more,” he paused as his shirt passed over his face, “I know some people are bringing harder stuff.”

 

Dean nodded, considering it. A chorus of “I'm there!” sounded from his fellow team mates and Dean finally replied with “I guess I could stop by for a little while.”

 

Parks scoffed. “Like a said, a _lot_ of hot chicks. You'll stop by for more than a little while.”

 

“Unless he's leaving with a chick!” yelled Henderson.

 

Dean laughed, his hand falling on Parks' shoulder after he lifted his bag and slung it across his chest. “And she won't have to worry about my stamina.”

 

Parks shrugged the hand off, yelling another “Fuck you!”. Dean waved at the guys in the locker room as he began walking out to leave. He heard Parks yell from where he still stood changing, “See you at the party, Dean!”

 

“Yeah!” Dean shouted as the door closed behind him.

 

Truthfully, Dean didn't really feel like going. He enjoyed being around the guys every now and then, laughing and joking and being crude, but he had always been a bit of a loner. None of his 'friends' knew him very well. They knew that he was Dean Winchester, that he could have any girl that he wanted in a heartbeat, and that he played a good game of football. That was basically it; it didn't go any further. He had never had a best friend and the longest he'd ever maintained a relationship with a girl was about a week. He just couldn't get close to anyone; the closest person in his life was his younger brother Sam and even that relationship had its walls.

 

As he passed the library, his eyes drifted over to the entrance. He found himself wanting to walk toward it, wanting to enter it to find a trench coat and its blue eyes that seemed to know everything about him. Images from a dream he hadn't thought about since he woke from it suddenly flashed before his eyes. His face instantly grew hot as he nearly choked on his own saliva. Mentally berating himself, and chasing the weird, confusing images away, he quickened his pace until he was almost running away from the library building.

 

As he fell into the driver's seat of his beloved Impala, he sighed. He decided the party would be a good idea; perhaps meeting a new lady friend and getting a little action would be good for him. He obviously needed something because why else would his thoughts drift to Castiel, a person he barely knew? And not only that, but the subject matter of the thoughts was unacceptable. Dean pressed the key into the ignition and started the car, the sounds of Led Zeppelin's Ramble On soothing him as he drove home to Bobby's.

* * *

 

Dean arrived at the dorm around 11:00 PM on Saturday, the loud music thumping from the pavement to vibrate through his shoes even from several buildings away. He had invested in his appearance more than usual, looking rather attractive in his tight-in-all-the-right-places jeans with his hair gelled cleanly. Several people were standing outside, some already smashed and stumbling and others only there to have a cigarette or to talk to friends that they couldn't hear inside. Dean waved to a few familiar faces as he walked through the doorway and into a massive throng of wild college students.

 

As soon as he entered, he was offered a beer by Parks and then invited to a round of shots with other members of his team. And then another round. And another. All too soon, Dean was feeling a buzz throughout his body, his head swimming as his body stumbled down hallways and into rooms. His need to escape his life had grown with every new day during the week and now he found himself overcompensating with the alcohol. By 1:30 AM vodka, whiskey, beer and some _Jägermeister_ entered his system and, not surprisingly, he was wasted.

 

He spied a curvy, dark skinned beauty across the room through a mass of writhing, dancing bodies, giving her a wink as he took another swig from his beer. The music was loud, thumping in his ears as she walked sexily towards him.

 

“What's your name, hmm?” she asked, her eyes devouring his body before landing on his face. She stood close, almost pressed against him. His head was swimming, and it took him a few moments before he could reply to her.

 

“Dean,” he said, making his voice more husky than normal. This girl was hot and Dean wanted to charm his way into her pants.

 

She leaned in closer to speak hotly into his ear. “Well, Dean, why don't you and I find a private place to chat?”

 

Just as he put his bottle down onto a nearby table to follow her to this private destination she seemed eager to find, a hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and forcefully pulled him back, turning him to face the other direction. And there, in front of him, was Gordon Walker.

 

Gordon was a member of the football team just the same as Dean, but unlike the rest of his team mates, he had held a deep and unexplained hatred for Dean from the very moment that they met. He was always trying to create conflict and it seemed that tonight would be no different. His eyes were wildly angry and it occurred to Dean that Gordon might have a little bit more than alcohol running through his system

 

“You think you can just hit on any girl you see, Winchester?” he growled, malice coating each word thickly as he gripped Dean by the collar of his shirt.

 

After Dean's terrible week of waking up to the sounds of his own sobbing, his own heart thudding painfully in his chest, he was not equipped to diffuse the situation. Instead, he was immediately furious. He pushed Gordon back aggresively, making him lose his balance and nearly fall to the ground.

 

Dean stood in a solid stance, preparing himself for a fight. At this point, he was more than willing to blow off some steam by punching Gordon Walker right in the middle of his face. “I don't see how which girl I choose to talk to has anything to do with you, Walker. Sorry you're not getting any action, but get the _fuck_ out of my face before I make you even more ugly than you already are.”

 

“It has to do with me when it's my god damned sister!” He yelled angrily, his eyes almost popping out of his skull as he lurched toward Dean, his fist managing to make contact with Dean's upper arm as he moved to dodge. Dean moved fast then, readying his fist and aiming straight for the bastard's face when he was suddenly grabbed from behind for the second time that night and was pulled away from Gordon.

 

“I don't think you want to do that, Dean,” came a deep, calm, and familiar voice behind him. Dean spun around quickly to see the face he knew the voice belonged to. And there he was. Castiel.

 

Dean choked back the gasp of surprise that he nearly let fall past his lips. What in the world was this bookworm, this weird boy with his trench coat and intense stares doing at a party? Halfheartedly, Dean moved to place himself back into the fight with Gordon. However, Castiel's hand had already lifted and grasped Dean's arm to prevent him from achieving his goal.

 

“Get the hell off of me, I need to go punch this fucker's face in!” he shouted even as Castiel began to drag him toward the exit. Out they went, and soon Castiel had pulled Dean past several buildings, only letting him go when they were quite a distance from the party. Dean hadn't made it easy, but he was in no state to properly object, his body was swaying as the alcohol worked even further into his system. He wasn't even thinking straight, he knew.

 

He opened his mouth to yell at Castiel about what had just happened but instead rushed to a group of well cared for bushes and collapsed to his knees, vomiting into the leaves. His heart clenched for a moment when he looked up to see Castiel, eyes dark and concerned as he watched him, and he somehow felt a sense of relief. If he didn't know any better, he would say that he had missed this face...

 

He did know better, though.

 

“Why, _why_ did you take me out of there, Cas!? Now he thinks I ran away like a scared little bitch! I should go back,” he tried to stand up but his head spun and he almost fell back to the ground. Castiel was fast as he moved to catch Dean, draping the drunkard's arm around his neck as he aided him in standing.

 

“I think you and I both know that that is not an intelligent plan, Dean. I believe the best option right now for you is to get some rest. Your body is obviously suffering from the effects of too much alchohol.”

 

Dean said nothing for several moments as he worked to focus his eyes on _something_. Damn, he was drunk. Finally, he had to admit that Castiel was right. He needed to sleep this off. He nodded.

 

“I can take you home,” Castiel suggested.

 

Dean shook his head in objection. At the look of confusion on Castiel's face, he tried to explain his situation.

 

“I don't need,” he paused again as his stomach and head whirled together, shattering his already unstable balance. Castiel grasped his waist with a steady hand to prevent him from landing on his face once more and Dean continued despite the way that the warmth emanating from the man beside him felt as if it were going to engulf him entirely.

 

“I don't need my brother to see me like this,” he said, his words slurring, “I can't go home.”

 

Castiel tilted his head as he seemed to always do when he was thinking hard about something. Instead of reasserting his opinion, as Dean had expected, he did something Dean did not expect at all.

 

“Well, you can come over to my apartment if you would like to protect your brother. I wouldn't mind,” he offered.

 

Dean opened his mouth to decline the suggestion immediately, but closed it as he considered the state he was in. He couldn't drive, that was more than a certainty. He was so wasted that even walking was a task. He couldn't go home because Bobby would be mad at him and Sam would be disappointed. He would look at him with those puppy dog eyes and think _you're just like dad_. The thought made him want to vomit again.

 

“Okay,” he said, finally.

 

Castiel nodded and began leading Dean along the walkway toward the parking lot.

 

_Cas' house, not a place I thought I'd ever go,_ Dean thought, his mind in a haze.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets a glimpse of Castiel's apartment.

Castiel had escorted Dean the entire way to his car and then again as they exited it, leading him up the stairs very carefully to the door of his apartment. Dean leaned against the door frame as Castiel picked out the right key and inserted it into the lock. Upon entering, Castiel let go of Dean to walk into the kitchen and Dean immediately plopped onto the floor, sitting with has back against the wall as he observed his new surroundings.

 

Castiel's apartment was _tiny_. It was a one bedroom, one bathroom in a small apartment complex located just outside of walking distance from the university. The walls were bare but every single surface held masses of clutter. Several large books sat atop most everything along with paper, pens, and random artifacts. It wasn't as neat and tidy as Dean had expected but neither was it a disaster. Somehow, it was an organized mess.

 

Castiel knelt down next to Dean, handing him a glass of water and ordering him to drink it. “It may help you not to vomit,” he explained. Dean nodded and took several large gulps. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

 

“Tired,” he slurred, his eyes half open as he failed to lift his body from the floor.

 

Castiel grasped Dean's arms and heaved his nearly limp body from the floor, once again wrapping his arm around Dean's waist to help steady him. He urged him towards a door at the left of the small apartment that Dean could only assume was his bedroom. Dean pushed back against Castiel's urging, making a sound that clearly expressed there was no way in hell he was going into the room.

 

“What are you doing, Dean? You need to go to sleep,” Castiel said, impatience started to seep into his voice.

 

“I may be drunk,” Dean said, swaying, “but if you think you're gonna get into my pants for even a second, you've got another thing comin'.” He laughed, shaking his head and giving Castiel a 'you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself' look.

 

Castiel sighed, exasperated and now fully expressing his impatience. “I'm not joining you, Dean. I'm not ready to sleep yet so you might as well take my bed. I promise to remove you from it should I change my stance on the matter.”

 

Dean eyed him with suspicion before nodding in acquiescence. “Fine, but I swear to god if I wake up with you next to me it will not be my,” he hiccuped, “my fault when you die.” Castiel rolled his eyes.

 

He opened the door, pushing Dean inside to guide him to the modest full sized mattress the room contained. He allowed Dean to flop down into the bed, not bothering to be gentle as he pulled the blanket out from underneath his already completely limp body and spread it out over him. Dean murmured a quiet, slurred, and basically unrecognizable 'thank you' before the world turned black and he drifted into the universe of sleep.

 

* * *

 

_It was night, the moon lending the only light, casting a menacing shadow off of everything. He was running. From what, he couldn't be sure. All he knew was the reek of the dirt and blood that soaked his clothes, the sound of his labored breathing, and the fevered, panic driven beating of his own heart pumping in his chest as he ran through the wooded landscape looking for his brother._

 

_Suddenly to his left a branch broke, signaling to him the presence of his pursuer. He ran in the other direction but it was already too late; the form leapt forward, its claws digging into his back making him scream in horror as he felt blood spurt from his flesh. He wrestled with the beast, its sharp teeth snapping close to his face, nearly managing to amputate his arm several times but always missing by a fraction._

 

_His hands reached frantically around him, clawing through the dirt in search of some tool of defense before his fingers finally curled around a heavy fallen tree branch. He lifted it above the growling creature and slammed it against its head, causing it to bark out a whine. He used the free moment he had bought to look towards the branch he held and saw that one end was sharp enough. He gripped it like a knife and aimed straight for the heart of the beast, shoving it forcefully into the flesh and just like that, the creature disappeared._

 

_In seconds he was up and running._

 

“ _Sam!” he shouted. “SAM!” And then he spotted him, his brother. He was lying on the ground, unmoving. His face was covered in blood, his shirt ripped open and his chest clawed to shreds. Dean ran and dropped to his knees beside his brother's form, gasping and sobbing as he lifted the limp body into his arms, cradling him._

 

“ _Sammy, no, Sammy it will be alright I have you now. I'm going to fix everything,” he choked out another sob, his fists tangling in his brother's shirt, “You'll be okay...I promise. Sam? Sammy?” He shook the corpse of his younger brother before shouting into the sky, “SAMMY!”_

 

* * *

 

“Sammy!”

 

He woke suddenly, sitting up with sweat pouring out of every pore, his muscles taut and teeth clenched. It took him several moments before he realized where he was and what was happening. He had had another nightmare. His breath was coming out in gasps, his body fighting to remember what reality was; he was no longer running for his life in the woods. Sammy was safe and at home, probably reading a book or sleeping. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, almost shouting when he saw a pale face and dark tousled hair looking back at him.

 

“Dean, are you alright?” The blue eyes were fixed upon his, staring into his soul as they always did but they were different this time. Castiel's eyebrows were not furrowed in confusion, but in concern and the color of his eyes was darker somehow. “Dean?” he questioned again, his face moving closer as his voice broke a little with worry.

 

It wasn't until another moment later that the reality of the situation his Dean. His hands were tangled in the front of Castiel's shirt, gripping the cloth with desperation. And then, to his horror, he felt them: the wet streaks running down his face. He had been crying, then, and Castiel had seen it all. Dean pushed the man away from him, burying his face into his arm to wipe the tears away as he growled “Get out.”

 

“But-”

 

“Now.”

 

Castiel merely looked at him, not moving even an inch from his position of sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean glared at him, anger starting to replace the lingering effects of his nightmare. The glare did not deter the blue-eyed nuisance in the slightest.

 

“Sammy is your brother?” he asked, his deep voice gentle, barely above the sound of a whisper.

 

Dean felt the anger deflate within him at that gentle tone, the deep rumble of Castiel's voice calming him, bringing him down from the height of his nightmare. “Yeah,” he said, cursing the way that his voice shook as he spoke, “I was dreaming that he died...in my arms.” As the look on Castiel's face intensified, Dean added with nonchalance, “It's okay, I'm okay. Nothing new.”

 

To Dean's surprise, Castiel shook his head. “You're not 'okay', Dean. You do a wonderful job of acting like you are, that's true, but I can see it. From the moment I first looked at you I could see that you were and are absolutely,” Castiel brought his hand up to Dean's chest, pressing it into the area over his heart, “ _aching_ inside. You carry a massive burden on your shoulders and you hold it all alone and let it crush you down further with every passing moment. Why can't you let someone in to ease it?” As he spoke, his face drifted in closer to Dean's, his eyebrows furrowed and his voice increasing in urgency with every word he spoke.

 

This was the first time Dean had ever heard Castiel say more than a few words at once. It surprised him, throwing him off and making his mind run blank. He didn't know what to say. He shook his head and cast his eyes downward, everything pausing.

 

“You don't think you deserve it,” Castiel said finally, his voice a gravelly whisper that brushed over Dean's lips.

 

Dean felt a rush of something then, his heart clenching with an overwhelming gratitude for this complete stranger who didn't need to be told a damn thing to understand him. Castiel just seemed to _see_ him, not his face, not his clothes, not who he hung out with or what car he drove or what grades he got in school but the Dean on the inside. The Dean that was damaged. The Dean that needed someone but would never admit to it. The real Dean.

 

The heat between them was overpowering, pulling Dean's mind into a fog as everything around him blurred and faded out of his vision. His eyes glanced up to Castiel's burning blue eyes and then flitted down to his lips. They were enticing as they always were, despite being pulled downward as he frowned with a profound sadness for Dean's condition. He could feel Castiel's breath against his own lips, the touch of it making a small electrical charge run through his body as he leaned forward.

 

The distance between Castiel's lips and his own had been dwindling ever since Castiel had woken him from his horrific nightmare. So, when the gap finally closed it wasn't as if either of the two had crossed some phenomenal distance to reach the other. But it certainly felt that way. He had no idea what possessed him to do it. Later, he would claim that he didn't remember it or that he had still been wasted from all of the alcohol he had consumed at the party and that was what fueled his actions in that moment; of course, he would be lying.

 

When their lips met a delicious, heart wrenching warmth spread from within Dean's chest and outward to run throughout the entirety of his body. He moved his lips slowly against Castiel's, taking in the feeling of them and comparing it to how he thought they might feel. They were different, Castiel's lips, slightly rough and chapped and yet better than he had ever imagined. Much better. Soon after he had gotten over the shock of it Castiel reciprocated, his lips opening to Dean's, his breath hot as his fingers clenched Dean's shirt where he had left them. Clenching at Dean's heart.

 

Dean leaned in further then, his tongue flicking out to run over Castiel's bottom lip for a taste. He could taste coffee there, with small traces of vanilla and cinnamon, the same smells he had found when he buried his head into Castiel's pillows. He couldn't help the small moan that fell past his lips or the way his kiss became more eager when Castiel let the slick pink muscle of his own tongue reach out to meet Dean's. His hands found their place at the front of Castiel's shirt, tangling themselves up in the cotton once more before his mind suddenly caught up to what was happening.

 

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Dean found himself shoving Castiel away from him. His heart was beating erratically, every nerve tingling as his face flushed with heat. He jumped out of bed and raced towards the door of the bedroom, stepping into the small living space and moving to the front door of the apartment.

 

Castiel rushed to follow him, his eyes wide in alarm and confusion. “Dean!” he called out, urgent.

 

Dean placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, pausing only for a second to murmur a quick and awkward “Thanks for letting me stay,” before walking out into the stairway without so much as a glance back behind him.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Dean gets in fights with douchebags.

Dean woke up the next morning sore all over, muscles aching and head pounding to punish him for all the alcohol that he had to drink the previous night. He reached up to massage his upper arm where he had been hit and winced at the pain of the bruise he found there. He groaned as he moved to turn onto his side and roll out of bed, his hand moving up to rub the stiffness from the back of his neck. His eyes flitted to the alarm clock's reading of 9:45AM that rested on his night stand just as his bedroom door opened to reveal Bobby.

  
  


“Had a late one last night, huh?” Dean nodded slowly as he got to his feet and Bobby scoffed, throwing a dirty rag straight at his face. “Well suit up, idjit, it's going to be a busy day in the shop and I need your help.”

  
  


Dean let the rag hit him without any move to grab it, his reflexes failing to respond to stimuli as his mouth stretched in a giant yawn. Bobby raised an eyebrow, “You're up to it, right?”

  
  


Dean nodded and gave a half-hearted thumbs up to the owner of Singer Auto Shop. Bobby turned and left muttering “damn idjit” as he went. Dean pulled on his oldest jeans and t-shirt that he customarily wore when working, his head still pulsing with pain. He left his room, stopping in the kitchen to grab some toast left over from the morning's breakfast before heading out the door and over to the shop.

  
  


Usually the shop was a place where he could clear his head, turning his mind into a blank slate as he focused all of his energy on what was in front of him. Not this time. His thoughts kept returning to the previous night, unwillingly reliving every event. It was terribly distracting. The first time his mind conjured the feeling of those full, chapped lips pressing heated against his, his hand slipped, the scraping of the tool he was holding against the metal he was working on making him wince. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the memory. Not even ten minutes later, though, he remembered the brief glimpse he'd caught of Castiel's face as he jerked away from him. His belly tightened in shame.

  
  


The worst part was that he knew he had to see Castiel again. He'd left in such a rush that the jacket he couldn't even recall removing had been left behind. He wouldn't have minded so much if that same jacket didn't also carry his cell phone in the front pocket. He'd been so spooked that if he hadn't worn his shoes to bed he probably would have left without them as well, walking barefoot all of the way back to his car.

  
  


He'd walked, too. He'd trekked all of the way back to his Impala with his heart pounding, his head aching, and his stomach unsettled. Luckily his keys had been in the pocket of his jeans or else he might have had to journey all of the way back to Bobby's on foot.

  
  


Throughout the rest of his shift, the cycle continued. He would think of Castiel's lips, his hands, the feel of them, the smell of them, and then forcefully push them away. Near closing he found himself wondering what might have happened if he'd stayed...

 

“Alright, champ, I think we're done for the day,” Bobby came up from behind him, clapping him on the shoulder and waking him from his daydream where his lips had traveled down to taste at Castiel's neck.

  
  


_Thank God_.

  
  


Dean had the thought more than once Monday morning that maybe he just wouldn't go to class today. After all, would he really miss that much? The thought of Castiel approaching him to return his things made Dean feel sick to his stomach. What would he say? What would he do? Would he want to talk about what happened or...?

  
  


Dean sat on his bed, mulling it over before finally deciding to go with the I-forgot-because-of-alcohol excuse. Should Castiel want to talk about anything, Dean would pretend that he had no idea what the little weirdo was talking about and get his cellphone and jacket and walk away unscathed. After all, he _had_ been drunk when he arrived at Castiel's place. It wasn't like he went into that kiss, that little meaningless peck, completely sober. It wouldn't be a total lie.

  
  


With that happy thought, he lifted himself up, grabbed his backpack and headed out to drive to school.

  
  


All throughout the day, Dean was coiled and tense, jumping up when he heard footsteps behind him and expecting every single person who approached him to be Castiel. But he never showed. Dean felt relieved at this but he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed as well. He shoved that feeling deep down to a place where he couldn't see it, though, as soon as he had felt it curling in his belly. He would not let himself _want_ to see Castiel. Dean went into practice praying that the activity could get his mind off of stupid Castiel and his stupid bed and stupid apartment and stupid, beautiful lips, speaking words that hit Dean right in his heart...

  
  


He shook his head as he put on his football gear, running plays in his head as he stepped onto the field to meet his other teammates.

  
  


“Hey, Dean, man I called you yesterday why didn't you call back?” Parks greeted him, clapping his hand onto Dean's shoulder. “You get lucky?” He gave Dean a lewd smile.

  
  


“I actually lost my damn phone somewhere. I was fucking wasted, dude. I don't remember much.”

  
  


“Well let's hope Gordon was just as wasted because I'm pretty sure he was ready to kill you when he couldn't find you after you guys had your little tiff,” Parks laughed.

  
  


_Oh yeah_ , thought Dean. He had almost forgotten the fight; he had been so fixated on seeing Castiel today that he didn't stop to think what he would do if Gordon confronted him. And if he knew Gordon, that dumb ass would definitely come try to start something again.

  
  


The conversation stopped as soon as the coach arrived and they began practice. Dean kept waiting for Gordon to arrive on the field but the minutes continued passing by until practice was over and he still hadn't showed.

  
  


“I wonder where that douche bag is,” Parks said in the locker room as he was about to leave.

  
  


“I don't know,” Dean replied, “but I don't really like the way it feels, you know? He's probably up to something stupid.”

  
  


“Yeah, I guess we'll have to wait to find out,” Parks lifted a duffel bag over his shoulder and nodded at Dean. “See you later, dude, let me know if you find your phone.”

  
  


Dean gave a small wave and started packing up his things. He was taking his time, wondering where Gordon could be and where the hell Castiel was for that matter as he laced up his boots. As he stood, grabbing his duffel in one hand, he was suddenly pushed from behind, slamming into the lockers in front of him with a loud bang that reverberated off of the walls.

  
  


“Shit!” he yelled, turning around only to get pinned to the rows of locked by his favorite person in the world, Gordon Walker. His hand locked in around Dean's neck, almost choking him but not quite, just tight enough of a grip to be incredibly uncomfortable.

  
  


Gordon leaned in close to Dean, an intense and insane anger outlining every line of his face as he snarled, “Where the _fuck_ did you go on Saturday, Winchester? You ran away like a little bitch as soon as you got a taste of my fist, did you think I wouldn't come to beat the shit out of the rest of you?” His hand's grip tightened before letting go and backing up, his stance screaming 'fight me'.

  
  


Dean choked and fell to the floor, rubbing his throat as blood rushed back to his brain. Anger flooded his senses, then, his fighting instinct kicking in and making him want to destroy the fucker in front of him. He launched himself forward to jab with his right fist, missing by centimeters as Gordon jumped backwards. And then Dean's legs were kicked out from underneath him as another attacker came up sneakily behind him.

  
  


Gordon reached down and lifted Dean back to his feet by his collar. Dean swung out and caught Gordon in his jaw, a painful crunch ringing through the air as yet another of the cronies appeared to punch Dean in the stomach, knocking the air from him. He gasped for air as he was knocked onto the floor for a second time and soon fists were raining down upon him. He felt the bruises blossoming underneath his skin, his bottom lip splitting and then it all suddenly stopped.

  
  


“That will fucking teach you, Winchester,” Gordon spat as he stepped back to look at Dean hatefully.

  
  


Dean laughed, choking and spitting blood on the floor, “What? That you need two douche bags to fight me for you?”

  
  


One of said douche bags kicked him in the stomach at that comment.

  
  


“Just don't fuck with me, you're warned,” Gordon growled, turning and leaving with his friends.

  
  


Dean sat for a moment, the adrenaline quickly fading as pain replaced it. He groaned and forced himself to get to his feet, taking a hold of the duffel bag he had dropped when Gordon pushed him. As he gripped the handle, he became incredibly pissed and wanted only to go home and lay in his bed to sleep all of this bullshit off.

  
  


With the fight, Dean had forgotten all about his jacket and Castiel, so when he was confronted with both of these, he was completely thrown off and surprised. Castiel approached him as he walked out to his car in the parking lot. He seemed to have appeared out of no where, startling Dean as he thrust the jacket forward and into his arms. _“_ You left this,” he said, voice more hoarse than usual.

  
  


Dean fumbled with the heavy leather, almost dropping it onto the ground as it was forced into him. “Uhh,” he said awkwardly.

  
  


Castiel gave a curt nod before and moved to spin around and leave before the realization of Dean's condition hit him. His mouth opened in shock as Dean leaned against his car for support.

  
  


“What _happened_?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Um,” he swallowed hard, shaking his head as if to say that it was nothing. “I heard you, uhh, pulled me out of a fight on Saturday?” It was the only think he could think of to say now that he had the attention of those big blue eyes that he had refused to admit he missed throughout the entire day. He didn't want to abandon his plan of playing stupid.

  
  


Castiel's eyebrows raised questioningly as he gave a slow nod. His hand lifted a little before the fingers clenched and his arm fell back to his side. Had he been thinking of touching Dean's face?

  
  


“I, uhh, thanks,” he said awkwardly, his flesh betraying him as it flushed a dark pink.

  
  


“You're welcome, Dean.” The worried tone that had entered Castiel's voice when he first realized that Dean was hurt had not left. In fact, it worsened.

  
  


Dean shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment, leaning further into the Impala as a wave of dizziness passed over him. The few blows he had taken to the head to beginning to have an effect on his consciousness. As Dean started to feel his knees give out beneath him, Castiel rushed forward to grab him and prevent the fall.

  
  


“You got into a fight,” Castiel said simply, his voice tight.

  
  


Dean laughed at how straightforward he was. He was always like that. Even when they had first met, he had stared straight at him without bothering to hide it. “Yeah, I got into a fight. Well, it was more like a fight came to me.” He regained his balance, clutching his jacket as Castiel let go of him

  
  


“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

  
  


Dean shook his head and was pleased to find no argument afterward. Sammy would have nagged him until he conceded but Castiel simply accepted his answer.

  
  


“Well, there's the stuff you left at my house,” he said, indicating the jacket Dean held, “sorry I couldn't get it to you sooner. I was busy.” He paused and looked up into Dean's eyes, a strange emotion held just beneath their surface but not revealing itself. “Goodbye,” he said finally as he turned to leave.

  
  


Dean caught him by his arm before he knew what he was doing and said in a quiet, gruff voice, “Thank you.”

  
  


“For what?”

  
  


Dean frowned, not wanting to say it but for some reason _needing_ to. He took in a breath and sighed heavily, looking away from the eyes that had turned towards him once again to pierce into his.

  
  


“For what you said,” he started, gulping, “the other night. It...I...no one has ever...,” and then Castiel's lips were pressed lightly against his cheek, stealing all of the breath from his lungs. When he pulled away, a small smile played at his lips.

  
  


“It's okay, Dean, I meant what I said.” Castiel held up a hand, his brows raising at the expression on Dean's face. “Don't worry, I know how you feel about this. Forget that I did that,” he indicated Dean's cheek, “and we can try to be friends?” His voice sounded perfectly calm, but the earnest look on his face revealed that he desperately wanted this friendship.

  
  


Dean was shocked to find himself nodding and even more shocked to hear what came out of his mouth. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

  
  


Castiel reached up to gently prod at Dean's rapidly swelling eye, making him wince in pain. “And now as your friend, I will be taking you to a hospital.”

  
  


Dean groaned.

  
  


_I guess it's not only Sammy_ , he thought.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns more about Castiel's past.

Dean, without fully admitting it to himself, had begun to enjoy his walks out to the parking lot to find his car after school every day. These were usually the times that Castiel chose to approach him to talk. They were, after all, friends now, right? Castiel had chosen these words the second day he'd found Dean near his Impala. Dean had been his usual self, cursing and complaining that Castiel needed to get a life and stop following him every where but Castiel merely stated that he believed friends had conversations every now and then. He was infuriating. Somehow, though, Dean found that he sort of liked it.

No one would ever guess that Dean and Castiel had anything to talk about; they were completely different people. They didn't share friends, didn't have even one class together, and they had very different interests. Yet somehow they always found themselves leaning against the Impala in the parking lot, talking or just sitting in silence, enjoying each others' company.

Today, just over a week after they entered their weird sort of friendship, they were talking about history. Rather, they were talking about how incredibly awful Dean seemed to be concerning the subject. He had practically stomped up to his car, throwing Castiel a harsh grunt by way of greeting before fumbling through his pocket for his keys.

"The professor hates me! She always makes subtle remarks about how athletes are idiots crowding the schools just because they are good at throwing around a ball. She even _looks_ at me when she says this shit," he complained, opening the backseat of his car to throw his backpack inside. Castiel stood awkwardly behind the car, taking in the anger and hostility Dean was letting roll off of him in waves.

"So, you do well on the tests but she marks you incorrectly? Professors aren't allowed to do that, Dean."

Dean's face flushed immediately. "Well, no, I...," he broke off, not wanting to admit that he did miserably on every history test he had ever taken his whole life. Castiel stood in silence, waiting for Dean to get his thought out.

That was one thing about Castiel that was simultaneously a blessing and a curse. The guy was an amazing listener. Dean could ramble on for long periods of time without a single interruption, allowing him to fully explain his thoughts without annoying questions or prodding. Castiel always gave him his full attention, making it obvious he was soaking in every word. In situations like these, however, it was no longer a desirable trait.

Dean looked away. "No, they aren't. And she doesn't. I fail every test on my own," he said, his voice rushed and embarrassed. He dared a glance at Castiel and found him smiling. It made him incredibly angry. "She still hates me, Cas!"

Castiel nodded, 'hmm'ing in false agreement. "Well you know, Dean, I'm very knowledgeable in the subject of history."

Dean rolled his eyes, opening the driver's side door of his baby. "Yeah, yeah, just rub it in, Cas. At least I have some god damned social skills. You can have your history."

Castiel cocked his head to the side, a telltale sign that he was confused. Every time Dean said something that he didn't understand, his head would tilt to one side or the other as if trying to get the correct information to roll out of its hiding place in his brain and out to a place that he could access it from. It was—Dean almost ventured to say that it was _cute,_ but he immediately shoved that thought down. It was stupid looking is what it was.

"I don't know what you mean, but I was just thinking that you could use my knowledge to your advantage," Castiel said, righting his head.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "What, like cheat?"

Castiel gave him an exasperated look before shaking his head. "No, I meant that I could help you study for your next exam."

Dean considered the offer. He wasn't fond of studying and didn't particularly care whether or not he did well on his exams, but it stood certain that if he didn't pass his classes, he wasn't going to be able to continue with football. With this thought, he found himself nodding his head.

* * *

Dean showed up at Castiel's small apartment complex around 7:00 PM. He had gone straight home from practice to shower and change before calling Castiel to confirm. The entire way there, he found himself getting increasingly nervous. At the last stoplight before the turnoff into the parking lot, Dean had struggled with the idea of turning around and heading back home to crawl under the covers and forget about it.

The last time he'd been at Castiel's home he had done something reckless and, well, outrageous. He'd been drinking, he kept telling himself as he sat in the parking space, gripping his steering wheel with white knuckles as he stared up towards the top of the stairs where Castiel's door was located. He shuddered at the memories that tried to shove themselves into his brain, pushing them away forcefully as he finally exited his vehicle.

Castiel greeted him at the door with an apologetic smile. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, the blue eyed historian opened the door all of the way, revealing the state of the house. It was a disaster. Not only was there a towering pile of books every where Dean looked, but the small kitchen was covered in dirty dishes and Dean could see dirty clothes piled in the doorway of Castiel's bedroom.

"What in the _hell_ happened to this place?" Dean asked in surprise, stepping inside and motioning to the giant piles of shit in front of him.

Castiel smiled a little sheepishly and shrugged, trying to make a small pile of books to his right a little neater but failing to have any affect on the entirety of the mess. "I was busy."

Dean shook his head and clapped his hand down on Castiel's shoulder. "Don't worry about it man," he laughed, "I don't care if it's dirty I'm just shocked. I always pictured you as a neat and tidy type of guy. Everything in order."

Castiel abandoned his attempt to fix up the place and instead waded through the mess to an area near a piece of furniture that looked something like a desk. Dean couldn't really tell. Castiel pushed books and papers and pens and all sorts of other little things to the side to create a small patch of carpet suitably large enough to allow both boys to sit. He motioned for Dean to join him.

* * *

A few hours later Dean found himself yawning, absentmindedly turning pages in the book that Castiel asked him to start reading as he secretly watched his blue eyes shift back and forth over his own volume. He looked completely immersed in whatever historical moment he was imagining and Dean found himself looking over the messy apartment again. It really did shock him how small it was. Something about Castiel seemed to give Dean the impression that he came from a very wealthy background.

"So what's your story, Cas?" he heard himself asking.

Castiel continued flipping the yellowing pages of the book he was holding. "What?" he asked, distracted.

Dean put his own book down, deciding that he no longer wanted to read about the history of feudal lords and serfs. "What's your story? Like, what are you doing here in this town, why are you going to college, why are you in this tiny little place instead of the dorms? Or, well, I know your sister lives around town so why don't you live with your family?" Dean had asked more than he'd intended, but he found himself suddenly interested in the answers to all of the questions he'd posed. He didn't know much about Castiel.

Castiel looked up from the book he was studying at the word 'family'. He looked hesitant, his eyes glancing up at Dean and then looking down at the floor. Dean had obviously stumbled upon a difficult subject for Castiel. Maybe they had more in common than Dean has originally thought.

"My family," Castiel said.

Dean just nodded in response.

Castiel didn't sigh out loud, but his chest moved in a way that suggested he was sighing deeply on the inside. He inserted a bookmark and set his book off to his left amongst the piles of other volumes and folded his hands in his lap.

"My family and I don't really...get along," he began, looking in Dean's direction, but focusing on the wall behind him rather than on Dean himself. "I only ever talk to Anna, and sometimes my brother Gabriel. But my other brothers and sisters and my fa-," he paused, swallowing as if the word had lodged in his throat, "my father, I don't talk to them anymore." His hands were fidgeting in his lap now, his whole body giving the signs that he was distressed by this talk of his family.

Normally, Dean would stop prying at this point, but he couldn't help the burst of curiosity he suddenly felt. "Why not?" he asked.

Castiel said nothing for a long time. Dean was slowly starting to learn that this didn't mean he wasn't going to speak, but that he was gathering his thoughts first. Castiel was calculative and liked to choose his words correctly. He needed time to edit whatever he planned to say to prepare himself to deliver it neatly.

"My father is very religious," he said, finally getting the words out, "and very strict. You asked me when you first learned my name what kind of name it was, am I correct?" Dean nodded. "Well," he continued, "my siblings and I are all named after angels. Castiel, Gabriel, Michael, you get the idea. My mother died when I was an infant, so I don't really remember her."

This new information hit Dean straight in the gut. Castiel had lost his mother before he had even _known_ her. He was like Sam in that way, relying on his older siblings' memories to piece his mother together. It made him feel connected to him, closer than before. He shook off the feeling and urged Castiel to continue with his story.

"Well, I was raised in a home with very strict ideas on how to live and how to act. I went to church every Sunday morning and bible study every Wednesday night. I never doubted what my father said because I was never told to question him."

"So then you decided to question him," Dean interrupted, guessing the outcome of the story. Castiel merely nodded.

"In the beginning of high school I started to realize something about myself that I was very ashamed over," Dean couldn't help but notice the pink that now tinted Castiel's cheeks at this admission. "I started to realize I was attracted to...well, men."

Dean had been expecting a tale of rebellion, but not quite that kind. He made a small noise of surprise, eliciting further redness to appear on Castiel's face.

"At first I tried desperately to 'heal' myself. I had been led to believe that homosexuality was some sort of disease and by practicing my faith and praying over it I could get rid of my feelings. I tried for a long time before I just couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't continue hiding who I was because it was eating me up inside. I felt guilty all of the time. I felt like a sinner and even though my father didn't know about my feelings I felt that he must have known I was a sinner, too."

Dean's heart clenched in his chest. The sadness and the guilt that was painted across the features of Castiel's face made him want to lean in and smooth the hard lines of it all away. He held himself back.

"In my senior year, I went through my rebellious phase, as all teenagers eventually do," he gave a dry laugh, "On the night of my graduation I told my father what I was and that there was nothing he could do about it. I was so _angry_ by then that all of my suppressed emotions came rushing from me and we fought viciously." Castiel paused, looking up towards the ceiling to access his memories before closing his eyes and resuming his story.

"He told me that no son of his could ever be what I was claiming I was, and that if I had decided to be a filthy gay, then I could get out of his house and away from his other untainted children. Anna was already living here so I called her that night. I was a mess, but somehow she understood me and she dropped everything to come and get me. I talk to Anna, of course, and every now and then my older brother Gabriel comes to visit. But I haven't seen my father or my other siblings since I left home. They don't try to contact me and I don't think they ever will."

He looked up, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. Dean could hardly stand it. He wanted to gather Castiel into his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that who gives a fuck what his father thinks because his father is a god damned idiot. Instead he reached out, covering one of the hands that Castiel still had cradled in his lap with his own.

"I'm so sorry, Cas," he said, and he meant it, too.

Castiel's eyes flitted down to Dean's hand and then back up to look into his eyes. Dean felt his grip on the hand he was holding tighten as those beautifully intense eyes met his, staring into him with that broken expression and making him feel a million contradictory things at once. Suddenly he pulled Castiel towards him, pressing the dark haired boy against him as he claimed his lips with his own.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't stop running away.

Dean moved across the small space separating them on the floor to hover over Castiel, deepening the kiss as he did so. His hands moved down to grip Castiel's hips, pulling him closer as his mouth wrenched away from his wide, delicious lips and began trailing kisses down along his jaw. The small gasps and moans falling from Castiel went straight through him, traveling downward to the hardening flesh in between his legs. He found a spot in the crook of Castiel's neck and let his tongue sneak out past his lips to taste it before sucking the soft skin there until it was a dark red. At this, Castiel's hand gripped the back of Dean's head, fingers grasping his hair and pulling tightly as he released a choked groan.

Dean pushed Castiel down to the floor to lay on his back, shoving several books and papers out of the way in desperation. He moved to straddle Castiel's body before eagerly pressing their lips back together again. It was blissful, the feeling of Castiel's roughly chapped lips moving against his, the hot wet feeling of Castiel's tongue thrusting against his as he pushed it inside of his mouth. Soon they were both moaning against each other, gasping and writhing in the middle of the floor, history books laying beside them forgotten.

Dean felt hot. His whole body seemed to be on fire and at each new movement, each new touch, it blazed more fiercely. His senses were overcome with Castiel. He could think of nothing else but the smell, the taste, the feel of their bodies pressed against one another. He wanted to get closer, let his hands touch every inch of skin of the man below him. His hand nudged at the bottom of Castiel's shirt, a small hesitation, before sliding up underneath the cloth to feel the heated skin of his stomach.

The simple touch set them both off, and Dean found himself rolling his hips downward to grind against Castiel's, the delicious friction of the cloth against his raging hard on sending whatever small amount of sanity he had left within him far, far away. Castiel reciprocated, arching his back to meet Dean, and Dean could feel his hands now moving down to grip Dean's sides, urging him to grind harder. Dean felt sweat beading along his hair line as they moved against one another, the fire inside of him now fully out of control.

"Dean," Castiel said urgently, though quietly, as he pulled his lips away from the kiss. Dean fought against the noise that threatened to sound from his own vocal cords; he had never heard Castiel's voice more deep and gravelly. It sent a shiver down his spine and drove him to begin pressing passionate open mouthed kisses to Castiel's throat.

"Dean," he could feel the vibration from Castiel's vocal cords against his lips as he spoke once more, "Stop." It took a moment for his brain to fully understand the meaning of the word, but when it finally registered Dean froze, still pressed against Castiel.

He could feel Castiel's hand tugging lightly at his hair, urging him back to look at him. When he finally detached himself, he let his face hover over Castiel's, looking down into his eyes with a puzzled expression.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Castiel's voice was hoarse and the pupils of his eyes large. Lust was written all over his features but there was something else there, too: concern.

Dean almost laughed at the thought that Castiel might think that he was a virgin. Of course he knew what he was doing. He was feeling someone up on the floor in a small apartment, kissing and touching and feeling their skin and letting his body fully react to the sensations those touches elicited. He was making out with Castiel. He was grinding his fully erect cock into Castiel. He was moaning and groaning and _whining_ against Casti...

_Oh_.

Suddenly, Dean understood what Castiel was really asking him. He wasn't asking Dean if he had experience, he was asking Dean if he knew exactly what kind of step he was taking. If nothing else, Castiel was extremely perceptive. He had proved on more than one occasion how well he knew what Dean was thinking or at least how he would react to something. Castiel was fully aware that Dean was not comfortable with thought of being gay. He knew that Dean, in his right mind, would grimace at even the PG rated version of what had just occurred. He'd balked when Castiel kissed his cheek next to the Impala the first day they decided to become friends until Castiel assured him it would never happen again.

Dean could read all of this in Castiel's eyes as he came down off of the high brought on by the rush of skin against skin. He slumped down to the side of Castiel after climbing off of him, tucking his hands in his lap and staring down at the carpet rather than into the piercing blue eyes trained on him. The loss of contact left him feeling strangely cold and naked after the intense heat of the moment they had just shared; the room seemed chilly. He shuddered.

"Why did you have to say anything?" Dean whispered below his breath.

Castiel sat up behind him, adjusting his shirt and smoothing the cloth of his pants, his breath steadying as he came back to reality with Dean. Dean didn't realize he had even said anything until Castiel began to reply. His voice was calm and collected, just like it always was in every situation and Dean wished he had that much control over his own.

"I know how you feel about this, about doing...this...with a man," Dean's face flushed as Castiel continued, "Judging by the way you ran off without saying anything last time, I know that you're...uncomfortable with it. I don't know what you're feeling right now but I do know that I value the friendship that we've created. I don't want...," his voice faltered for a moment, his eyes finally moving away from Dean to stare at the carpet without really looking at it. "I don't want to make you run away again."

Dean wished that Castiel would just shut up, that he would have never interrupted what they had going for this conversation. He wished that passion could have taken them as far away from this talk as possible. But Castiel cared too much. He was right, of course, about how Dean was feeling. He claimed he didn't know but he'd hit the nail right on the head. Dean had never been attracted to a man, not even in the smallest amount. In fact, he'd spent the majority of his high school and early college years chasing girls down, staring at their curves and their breasts and loving the way they looked when they walked...

Yet here he was, climbing onto his friend to ravage him, pushing him to the floor and grinding his body against him. He couldn't deny that he was the one who initiated everything that just occurred, either, even though he desperately wanted to. The truth was that the feelings inside of him terrified him. He tried to push them away every time they flickered through his brain but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so. So yes, Dean had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

Dean's eyes glanced at the front door. It would be so easy to stand up and run to it, swing it open and throw himself into the driver's seat of his car and forget that this ever happened. His leg twitched, wanting him to lift himself off of the floor and bolt but then he remembered the sound of Castiel's voice almost cracking as he spoke.

_I don't want to make you run away again_.

Dean let out a deep sigh, removing his eyes from the tempting escape the door offered and onto Castiel. His eyes were still lowered, his hands resting at his sides as he waited for Dean's response. Dean didn't know what to say. He'd spent his whole life keeping his emotions inside, not wanting to force Sam to shoulder any of the burden. He didn't know how to articulate what was going on inside of his head.

He reached out to where he'd tossed the history book instead, flipping through the pages until he found where he'd been before everything began. "Serfs were members of the lowest feudal class," he read out loud, doing his best to keep his voice joking and unaffected. Castiel looked up finally, his eyes meeting Dean's with that inquisitive look he got whenever Dean stopped making sense to him.

"Why didn't all of these bastards just join forces and fuck up the lords' shit? This is why I hate history," he pointed at the book and raised his eyebrows at Castiel, "I mean, tons of historical bullshit could have been avoided if people would just nut up and demand their god damned rights. You know what I mean?"

Castiel opened his mouth, his facial expression bewildered. "Dean, I don't see what that has to-"

"Right, Cas?" Dean asserted loudly, interrupting Castiel's attempt to resume the previous discussion.

Castiel's face fell a little in response, a small frown forming on his face. He paused for a moment before extending his arm to his side and picking up the book he'd had in his hands before Dean started questioning him about his personal life. He looked back at Dean, his expression devoid of all emotion. Even his eyes seemed less intense than normal.

"Right," he said quietly, and relief surged up through Dean's chest. "You have to fight for the things that you want," Castiel added a few moments later.

Dean only nodded by way of reply, watching as Castiel immersed himself back into the large book in front of him.

* * *

"Dean," Sam said in the bitchiest voice he could muster. "Dean, would you _stop_ doing that!?"

Dean looked up, brought out of the trance he'd been in for the last few hours. They were sitting in the living room, Dean on the couch with some history homework spread out over the coffee table and Sam at the computer desk. Dean looked at his younger brother, raising his eyebrow in question. Sam rolled his eyes and pointed at Dean's right hand that was clicking a pen repeatedly. He didn't even realize he'd been doing and looked down at it in confusion, like someone had placed the pen in his hand to frame him.

"What is your issue?" Sam asked, irritation still in his voice but coupled now with a small amount of worry.

"Nothin'," Dean answered simply, tossing the pen on top of the open book and rubbing his hand over his face. It was Sunday night and he needed to finish up this paper on feudal lords before Monday morning or else he would have to face the very real possibility of failing history and being kicked from his football team. He'd planned on getting it done at Castiel's apartment but...

"Don't give me that, Dean, I've lived with you for 17 years I know how you act when you're bothered by stuff. What's going on?" Sam closed his laptop, turning to face his older brother at full attention.

Dean groaned, his head falling against the back of the couch. He was on the verge of answering with another 'nothing' but Sam wasn't going to buy it, obviously, and the stupid kid never let anything drop once it was brought up. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Dean gestured to the spread of homework in front of him, annoyed. "I'm writing a goddamned essay, what else would I think about?"

Sam laughed but Dean wasn't relieved because it was the I'm-Sam-and-I'm-not-buying-any-of-your-bullshit-today laugh rather than a genuine one. "Dean you haven't looked at any of that stuff," he mimicked Dean's gesture, opening his arm up towards the coffee table, "since you sat down and opened the book. You've just been staring at the wall and _clicking_ that annoying pen. I just called your name about a thousand times before you even realized it. _So_ , what exactly are you thinking about that has you so distracted? Is Gordon messing with you again?"

Dean shook his head. No, Gordon was still an asshole and he was still giving Dean threatening looks in the locker room, waiting to get him alone so he and his stupid friends could gang up on him again, but that's not what was on his mind.

First, it had been blue. He'd grabbed his pen and started writing on a piece of paper, a trail of blue ink following his hand. That started it all; he immediately thought of a pair of blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, the color of the ocean, eyes that could go from calm to a deep dark storm in seconds. Then he'd opened his book and began reading about history. Images of a dark haired boy in a tan trench coat, sitting in a library surrounded by large volumes of historical information passed through his head. Then, he'd let his eyes go unfocused as he sat and thought of the small apartment, the carpet, the touches, and the goodbye that he'd received at the end of all of it.

Castiel acted strangely as Dean left, no smiling, no cute little wave, no sparkling eyes as Dean made a small joke. He'd opened the door and said 'goodbye'. It wasn't that Castiel had never been a bit monotone or a bit too straight to the point in conversation; in fact, those were key points in his normal personality. His social skills were never excellent. This was different though; it _felt_ different.

Soon Dean's thoughts had drifted to the possibility that Castiel might be angry with him for avoiding the situation. He didn't run away like last time, not exactly, but he did take an escape route nonetheless. He'd run away by pretending nothing had happened. Again.

Dean was woken up for the second time by the sound of Sam heaving in a deeply annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"You're doing it _again_ ," he hissed.

Dean shut the book and started piling all of his papers on top of each other, shoving some of the mess into his backpack and gathering the rest of it in his arms to carry it. "Look," he said, picking up the pen he accidentally dropped onto the floor, "It's alright, Sammy. I'm fine. I'm going to go to my room and finish this up and then go to bed. You should too. Goodnight."

Sam gave Dean a sullen 'fine' and Dean turned to walk down the hall and into his room. He dumped his homework next to his bed and climbed on top of it, resting one hand on his chest and the other next to his head. He looked at the ceiling, his thoughts turning back to Castiel. His heart clenched.

_Why am I such an asshole?_


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean ventures into the library once again.

“As you know, the Thanksgiving holiday break is approaching,” Dean's ears perked up suddenly, pulling him out of the half-asleep stupor brought on by the most boring history lecture he'd ever sat through. “School will be out for the duration of the week, so don't bother showing up. I will not be checking my e-mail through the holiday, so don't expect a response until the university opens again. I notice many students choose to skip the last Friday before break, and for those of you who happen to be planning just that, good on you. Go for it. But don't expect to pass my class,” the professor's voice lit up with cruel humor as she continued, “as we will be having an exam worth no less than twenty-five percent of your grade that day.”

No one would dare voice it, but an inaudible groan passed through the room at these words. Dean felt his heart drop.

“Half multiple choice, half essay questions. The material will span over everything we've learned this semester up to this point.” The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smirk as she started packing her things away. “That ends our session today, I'll see you all on Monday. Please use your weekend wisely.”

Everyone around Dean started rising, moving to close their laptops, shove notebooks away, and to zip up bags. Dean could only sit still as he watched them, anxiety bubbling up within him with a threat to suffocate him. Dean was terrible when it came to the academic world, it was true, but more than anything else he was an absolutely horrific test taker. Give him a time limit and shove a test in front of him and he was almost guaranteed to fail.

_Jesus, 25%._ He was screwed.

Dean left the classroom feeling sick to his stomach. He had no idea how he was going to pull this off. He _had_ to pass this class. If he didn't he would most likely lose his scholarship and then there went football, one of the only things that made him forget about the shit factory that was his life. One of the things..

Thursday night Dean had woken up violently from a nightmare that had started as a pleasant dream. He and Castiel were leaning against the Impala, talking about their day like they had taken to doing throughout the past few weeks. Castiel laughed and smiled through Dean's anecdotes, his body scooting closer to press against Dean's side. Suddenly the sky darkened and it began pouring rain, requiring Castiel to run off to his own car and drive home, waving goodbye to Dean. Then the dream had cut to Dean wandering around a dark, rain slicked road and shouting; this was a familiar scene. When he came across the body, however, it wasn't his father's or brother's face that stared up at him as it usually was; it was Castiel. Castiel laying in a ditch. Castiel covered in blood. Castiel's beautiful blue eyes rendered lifeless and cold. He'd almost vomited.

Dean hadn't seen or heard from Castiel since their 'study' session at his apartment. At the beginning of the week, Dean assumed Castiel was busy or something, maybe just too heavily involved in all of his history research to talk. By Wednesday, he'd started to get worried. What if something happened? What if he really was laying in a ditch somewhere and no one had found him yet? It was possible. The weather had taken a huge turn within the past month, the rain pouring down in buckets. The sickness in his stomach brought on by the news of the exam doubled as the image of Castiel's lifeless form passed through his mind. Football was called off for the next few weeks for the holidays so Dean didn't even have that to get his mind off of things.

He stepped outside, breathing a sigh of relief to see that the rain had let up for a moment as he walked out to his car. As he passed the library entrance, he stopped. Castiel could be in there. After debating the pros and cons with himself for a few moments, he made the decision to quickly step in and scan the room. He just wanted to make sure Castiel was alive, that was all. He didn't want to see him or anything, didn't want to talk like they used to, just wanted to make sure his dream hadn't come true. Then he would leave.

He was met with familiar looks as he crossed the threshold but couldn't be bothered with them as he hid himself down an aisle of books, poking his head out to scan the study area for a tan trench coat. His stomach tightened as he realized there wasn't one; Castiel wasn't anywhere to be found in the library.

He looked once more just to be sure before letting out a deep, disappointed sigh.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean gave a strangled cry of surprise as he just about jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face the speaker. He came face to face with none other than the trench coat wearing weirdo he had just been wildly searching for, Castiel.

“Cas,” he said, unable to hold back the sound of relief in his voice.

Castiel gave him a small nod and the smile that usually accompanied the gesture was absent, making Dean's stomach clench in worry. “What are you doing here, Dean? As I recall, you aren't fond of this particular building.”

Dean panicked and turned his body toward the shelves next to him, his fingers trailing across the spines of several books as if he were an interested scholar. He tried his hardest to not let the deep familiar voice affect him. “I'm, uh, looking for a book. I have a history test next Friday and I should study. What, um, what are you doing here?” He wanted to kick his own ass for the stupid question. Castiel was always at the library.

“I became assistant librarian on Monday, I'm putting books away,” Dean looked up as Castiel gestured to the cart full of books he was wheeling around that Dean had missed when he'd looked before.

“Oh,” Dean replied, facing the wall of books once more with an expression of exaggerated focus on his face.

“You're looking for history reference?” Dean nodded in response.

Dean could _feel_ Castiel's head tilt of confusion. “Dean, you're in fiction.”

Dean lifted his head to look at the section marker to his right and noticed that it did indeed label this aisle as 'fiction'. He couldn't even attempt to repress the hot flush rising to his cheeks as embarrassment flooded through him.

“Oh,” he said again stupidly.

“Would you like me to show you to the history section?”

Dean nodded as thoughts began racing through his head, not really hearing the question Castiel asked. Castiel was alive, then. He was perfectly okay, just living his day to day life. So then why had Dean heard nothing from him for a solid week when just before that, they had seen each other nearly every day for almost a month? And even though they were talking right at this moment, it wasn't like it had been before. They were talking like strangers.

“Where have you been?” he blurted out before he could stop himself, the thoughts and questions tumbling around in his brain becoming too much.

Castiel looked at him curiously for several long moments, making Dean feel as uncomfortable as possible under his gaze before he replied.

“I felt a bit...ashamed, I suppose,” he whispered, casting his eyes down to the library floor as he spoke. It was Dean's turn to give Castiel a look of confusion, his eyebrow raising questioningly. Castiel shifted, visibly uncomfortable with the subject which was something Dean had never seen before. No matter what topic they discussed, even when Dean had insisted Castiel had a big gay crush for him in a very public place, he had always been calm and collected. Not this time.

“I told you about my family and you kissed me, Dean,” Castiel's eyes stayed focused on the floor so Dean couldn't really see his face, but his neck was pink.

Dean felt shame coil in his belly. He had, of course, expected that Castiel's lack of contact had been because of that night. The way that he'd said goodbye just wasn't right, and Dean knew it. His body stiffened.

“Cas,” was all he managed to choke out before Castiel was talking again.

“I told you because you asked and because I trust you. Not because I expected...,” he finally managed to lift his head, looking at Dean with a pained expression. “I didn't expect you to do...that.”

If Dean's heart hadn't already dropped into his stomach, it certainly did so now. It had been him, hadn't it? He was the one that pushed Castiel to the floor, pushed his tongue into his mouth, shoved his hand underneath his shirt. Had Castiel tried to resist him? All he could remember was the hot desire that had flooded through his system, driving him to kiss and lick and suck on the skin before him. _Oh my god,_ he thought. Had he been about to _rape_ Castiel?

“Just because my father hurt me doesn't mean you have to feel obligated to fix it, Dean. The pain isn't going to go away just because the boy I like kisses me,” Castiel finished as Dean went through his inner panic attack. He had just arrived at prison when he realized Castiel had spoken. In a few seconds Dean actually registered what he'd said.

_The boy I like...Oh._

“You think that was a _pity_ kiss!?” Dean asked incredulously, his voice at a much louder volume than he had intended. A couple students sitting at a table near to the fiction section lifted their heads at the interruption. Dean grabbed Castiel's arm and drew him further into the aisle to bring their conversation out of everyone's sight.

Castiel looked at Dean, his eyes wide and jaw slackened. “You...of course it was,” he said, unsure.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. Truthfully, he didn't want to say anything. He wanted to turn around and walk out of the library like nothing had even happened; his normal reaction to situations of this nature. He toughed it out though, clapping one hand on Castiel's shoulder, his other hand lifting to emphasize what he was saying.

“Look, Cas. Being honest, I don't know what the hell is going on with me,” his voice broke a little from nervousness but he continued anyway. “But it wasn't a pity kiss, okay? I...I wanted to do it.”

_And now I also want to die, oh my god._

“But you're-”

“Not into guys, I know,” Dean interrupted. “I just...I think you're different? Or something. I don't know.” His thoughts were all over the place, making him incapable of articulating anything correctly.

“Dean, I-”

“I don't know where to go from here, I really don't. But can we just be...like we were? Just talking and hanging out? I liked that. I'd like that to be-”

It was Castiel's turn to do the interrupting, it seemed, as he moved forward and pressed his lips against Dean's to stop the flow of half-formed thoughts spilling from them. It was a brief meeting, Castiel quickly pulling back to look Dean in his eyes.

“Okay, Dean,” he said simply.

Dean let his hand fall from where it sat on Castiel's shoulder, fighting the intense impulse to shove Castiel against the shelves. “Okay,” he said instead.

“Okay.”

And so the very next week Dean and Castiel returned to their normal routine. The only difference was that they couldn't meet out in the parking lot anymore as it was practically flooding as a result of the torrential downpour afflicting the area. Instead, they met up in the library where Castiel was sometimes studying and sometimes working. Dean would sit beside him, getting his own studying done, or follow him around the building, watching as he organized and put books away.

Well, not the only difference. Things had shifted since their whispered conversation the previous week. For one, they were both a lot more open with each other. Castiel talked a bit more about his family and Dean about his. He explained the relationship he had with Sammy, how he needed to protect him and about how he was worried about his eventual journey out of Dean's life and into college. Castiel talked about his sister, Anna, and about how while they didn't talk about their feelings very often they were incredibly close.

The other part of this 'shift' was completely different and incredibly frustrating for Dean. Castiel had about as much respect for personal space as he did for staring; that is to say, none. Dean knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but he found himself so close to Castiel that they were almost pressed together on more than one occasion during the week. The first time, Dean had felt a jolt of electricity pass between their bodies, every ounce of flesh desiring to touch and be touched. He panicked and moved away, knocking over a stack of books and receiving a very dirty look from the head librarian.

Truthfully, the thought of being with Castiel became less and less improbable every day. The confusion and the fear remained, though, and that's what prevented him from acting on his feelings. What would the guys on the team think? What about Sammy? And Bobby? What would happen if he allowed himself to take that step? It's not like he could turn around and go back to the way things were if he changed his mind. It was a decision he would have to live with forever.

Besides, other than the little crush Castiel seemed to have on him, what real assurance did Dean have that Castiel wouldn't turn and run as soon as he realized how fucked up Dean was? Eventually he would figure it out and what reason would there be for him to stick around? So yes, Dean would continue keeping that distance, however small it was, because he couldn't dare risk the consequences that might occur.

_Why would anyone want to deal with all my god damned problems?_


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings. Lots and lots of feelings.

Dean felt queasy as he walked inside of the classroom where he was doomed to the fate of an exam worth an entire twenty-five percent of his final grade. He wanted to throw up; maybe the professor would take pity on him, let him leave and come back to take the exam another day. He looked up to the front of the classroom with hope shining in his eyes to the stern face of his history professor and immediately dismissed that plan. She would hand him a copy of the test to take with him into the bathroom as he heaved into the toilet, he knew.

Instead he sat down near the back of the room, pulling out an exam book, a pen, and a pencil to take the test with. In no time a copy of the paper with all of the multiple choice questions was handed to him and the room fell silent but for the small scrape of pencils filling in bubbles. He could feel sweat forming on his brow as he wrote his name in, a small bead of it traveling down the side of his face as he read the very first question.

His brain shut down immediately. He read it over and over again, trying to get the words to form a sentence he could comprehend but his test taking curse was blocking it from registering. He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and doing his best to relax like Castiel had told him to do.

_The biggest reason you shut down is the heightened nerves. If you take a few deep breaths and close your eyes, you can relax yourself and come back to earth. It should help you._

It did help, it turned out. Finally, the question made some sense and Dean was able to fill in a bubble on his multiple choice form. He wasn't entirely confident, but he felt much better than before. The rest of the first section of the test progressed in the same way, panic threatening to engulf him before he inhaled a few calming breaths and soldiered on. Eventually, it was over and the second section was passed around. Dean opened his exam book and let his pen meet paper.

“That's it, the time has run out. Please turn in your exams on my desk on your way out,” came the voice of Dean's professor from the front of the room. He panicked, finishing the last of his sentence before grabbing his exam book and his bag, tossing one over his shoulder and dropping the other on his professor's desk on his way out of the room. He raced outside, needing to breathe in some fresh air after the stifling atmosphere of the classroom.

He'd answered the first short essay question with ease, his mind traveling back in time to one of his and Castiel's study sessions in the library. The second he'd struggled with. The third, well, there was a reason his stomach hurt.

As he walked down the hallway his steps felt heavier and heavier. Each new step forward felt like a war against gravity. He wanted to sit down and put his head in between his knees but he continued on towards the parking lot, unlocking the front door of the Impala and crawling inside before throwing his head back against his seat as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

He ran back through the answers he'd put on the test, testing out the likelihood that he'd gotten anything correct. He started to question everything he'd written in on the short essays, dread flooding through him as he suddenly realized the certainty that he'd failed. He failed that test, he knew it. That meant that he was going to fail the class, too. That meant he could say goodbye to football, goodbye to college, and goodbye to any small amount of respect that Sam or Bobby had for him. What a loser.

And then there was Castiel. Castiel, who had been helping him study for the past week and had helped him before that as well. Castiel, who was an amazing historian and a perfect tutor. Yet Dean _still_ couldn't learn. Castiel would be so disappointed in him.

The vibration in Dean's pocket brought him out of his panic attack, waking him up just enough to allow him to shove his hand in his pocket to retrieve it. It was a text from Castiel.

_Are you still coming over to celebrate the end of the exam?_

Dean groaned miserably. He'd made plans with Castiel to come over to his apartment and rejoice in the fact that he no longer had to worry about his terrible all consuming test. A wave of nausea rolled through him as he stared down at the screen of his cell phone. He wanted to say no, wanted to just go straight home and climb into his bed to forget that he existed but he knew he'd have to face Castiel someday. He might as well get it over with.

Imagining the look of disappointment that would be on Castiel's face, he started the car and backed out of his parking space.

The war with gravity hadn't ended, he found out, as he walked towards Castiel's apartment building. Climbing the stairs was the hardest part and he'd almost fallen down to his death when he reached the top and Castiel was there in front of him. Dean let out a gasp of surprise.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, a hint of smile in his voice.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said sullenly. “Why are you standing outside?”

“I just got home, Dean, and I didn't want to have to wait any longer to see you,” he said simply, as if that was a completely normal thing to say to someone and as if it wouldn't take Dean's breath away. It did take his breath for a moment, his nerve endings tingling with that now familiar feeling he had come to associate with Castiel.

“How did you perform, Dean?” Castiel asked, a smile creeping up onto his face. The warm, tingly sensation was immediately replaced with dread as Dean remembered the reason why he was even at Castiel's house. The smile was the worst part; it was a knowing smile, a smile that spoke volumes of confidence. Castiel seemed to be positive that Dean had flown through his exam with flying colors. He was wrong.

“I, uh, I think I did pretty bad, to be honest,” he said, his speech halting as he struggled not to choke on the shame that he felt. “I just kinda stopped by to tell you thanks for trying with me. I shouldn't have wasted your time, though. I don't really have what it takes for this kind of thing and I should have just told you that so you didn't try to help me when you could've been doing what you wanted or working or whatever...,” he was rambling but he didn't care. He had to get this all out so he could turn around and finally leave. Castiel was a smart guy, he would see that Dean was too stupid for him and let him go.

In the middle of Dean's spiel, however, Castiel threw him off guard. Castiel stepped forward into his personal space and slid his arms around Dean's middle, pulling him into a gentle hug. Dean silenced his rant, eyes widening as Castiel squeezed him tighter. Dean fought the desire to relax into those arms, to rest his head on Castiel's shoulder and let the man hug him as tightly as he could and after a few short, silent moments, he pulled away, his eyes shining with the threat of angry tears.

“Stop it!” Dean yelled, “Just stop it! Why are you doing this?” Castiel's eyes widened in alarm at the extreme quality of Dean's reaction.

“Dean, I just thought-,” Castiel started.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Dean interrupted, demanding. “I'm a huge fucking idiot, what do you want with me?”

Castiel's brows furrowed, his head tilting just barely to the side in a way that only Dean would recognize. “Dean, I love you.” The words were not whispered, but they were said so quietly that Dean was almost unsure that he'd even heard them and as completely and utterly shocked as he was to hear those words pass those wide chapped lips, he couldn't help but shove them aside.

“You shouldn't!” he responded, the words falling from him before he even knew he was saying them.

“Why not?” Castiel asked in the same barely audible tone as before.

“Because!” Dean shouted, “Because I'm fucked up, Cas! I'm good at football and at fixing cars, and that's it. That's all I have. I can't handle this school shit, I don't know how to get close to anyone, hell, I can't even sleep through an entire night most of the time! Why would you want that? How could you possibly want that giant pile of shit dumped on your doorstep?” At some point during his ranting and raving Dean had turned around to face away from Castiel, throwing his arms up in a gesture of surrender.

Castiel stood there without moving an inch and Dean could feel his eyes on the back of his head, unwavering as they pierced into him. “None of that matters, Dean,” Castiel's deep voice rolled like thunder over him when he finally spoke. “I'm not interested in assessing your test scores,” his voice carried a tone that expressed how ridiculous he found that particular concern. Dean heard the quiet scrape of Castiel's shoe on the concrete as he took a step forward, closing a piece of the gap in between them. “If you wake up in the night, like you did when you slept in my room, tears rolling down your face,” Castiel reached out and wrapped a hand solidly around Dean's right fist, gripping it gently but with a firmness that told Dean he had no intention of letting go, “I want to be there to wipe them away. I want to remind you that you are safe, that Sam is safe, and most importantly to remind you that you are loved.”

All at once Dean was struck with a million feelings and more than anything was the prevailing thought that he didn't give a damn anymore. He didn't give a damn that the person gripping his hand tightly was a male; he didn't give a damn if anyone was watching or what they were thinking of what they saw. All that mattered was that this man with his blue-eyed stare could look down into the very core of his being and not only resist the temptation to run, but downright _refuse_ to. A wave of emotion crashed over Dean's body as he spun around and rushed forward, gathering Castiel into his arms and crushing his lips against him.

The feel, the scent, and the taste of Castiel flooded Dean's senses. He felt higher than he ever had, drugged by the overwhelming touch of Castiel's mouth upon his own. With every passing moment his kisses became more passionate, his mouth practically devouring the lips in front of him as the urgency to be as close to Castiel as physically possible flared up into an undeniable _need_. Dean let out a choked whine that he would never admit to when Castiel wrenched his lips away. He always seemed to be doing that.

“Dean,” Castiel said, breathless. He looked so beautiful like this, his lips all red and swollen with kisses, his cheeks flushed pink as he looked into Dean's eyes with two ocean blue orbs. Dean couldn't take it, the sight sending him straight over the edge into insanity and before he knew it his mouth went in to attack Castiel's once more, the fevered feeling in his chest taking over his entire brain.

Castiel's hand traveled up Dean's chest, eliciting a small groan from him before applying force to push Dean away once more. “ _Dean_ ,” he reasserted.

Dean's head cleared a little then, taking in his surroundings enough to remember that they were outside in a place where anyone could see them if they cared to look. Sure enough, a couple who lived in the apartment below Castiel's was strolling along the walkway below the stairs, both pairs of eyes glancing up to see the spectacle that was Dean and Castiel. Dean's heart was pounding, he could hear the rush of blood in his ears as his breath came out in small pants.

“Oh,” Dean breathed as Castiel snorted quietly in amusement. Dean paused for a moment, not knowing exactly how to proceed before letting his hand enter from the side of Castiel's trench coat. He pushed past the tan fabric to land on Castiel's right hip, his thumb tracing the line at the top of Castiel's pants. Castiel's face turned an alarming shade of red, his eyes opening wide in surprise at Dean's boldness. Just as Castiel was about to protest for the third time, Dean dipped his hand into the pocket of Castiel's pants, fingers closing around the keys located inside. He lifted them out, a smirk on his face as he pressed the clanging metal into Castiel's hand.

“Let's get inside,” he said gruffly, his lips dangerously close to Castiel's ear. Dean felt a shudder run through Castiel's body and he felt a tightening in his lower abdomen at the thought that it was in reaction to him.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean was surprised with how at ease he was, considering that the very thought of even kissing Castiel had been greatly embarrassing to him not even days ago.

As soon as the door was slammed shut, Castiel's entire demeanor changed going from shy and unsure to eager and wanting. He pushed Dean against the closed door and covered his mouth with his own, tugging his trench coat off before his hands were everywhere all at once. Dean gasped, letting Castiel slip his tongue inside of his mouth as he enjoyed the feeling of Castiel's hands roughly shoving their way up underneath his shirt. Dean brought his own hands up to wrap themselves in locks of Castiel's hair, pulling him closer to deepen their kiss.

Dean was both surprised and aroused by this change in Castiel's attitude, his heart rate jumping to a pace that was most certainly unhealthy when the lips pulled away from his and the rough hands forced his t-shirt up and over his head. Castiel looked at Dean, flushed and panting.

“Bed,” he managed to get out, tossing Dean's unwanted shirt to the floor. Then his lips returned to Dean's flesh, kissing and biting and sucking at his jawline as he pushed him slowly towards the door that Dean knew was the entrance to his bedroom.

Dean felt like he was dreaming. There was no way that this absolutely perfect moment was about to unfold, was about to happen to _him_. He was being led to Castiel's bedroom, that beautiful mouth relentless in its attacks on his skin, teasing groans from him.

Castiel broke away from Dean after they made it past the door of the room, falling back onto his bed and shoving the few books that sat atop it carelessly to the floor. The look that Castiel gave Dean at that moment would have, if he hadn't been there already, gotten him hard in two seconds. Dean crawled on top of him, bending down to bury his mouth against Castiel's neck. Their bodies pressed up against one another and although Dean enjoyed the friction of Castiel's clothed torso against his naked one, he desperately needed to feel Castiel's bare chest.

He grasped the bottom of Castiel's shirt and tugged up on it, making it obvious he wanted it gone and Castiel lifted his arms to help the process. The feeling of Castiel's warm skin pressed against him made him insane, a groan leaving him as he began to grind his crotch against Castiel's.

He could feel the hardness of Castiel's erection through his pants and the sensation both terrified and excited him at once. He was terrified because, well, he'd never done this with a man before and was used to tits and pussy, not _this_. Overriding this fear, however, was an overwhelming excitement. It didn't help that Castiel's hands were all over him, teasing him from his nipples down to his lower abdomen where he rubbed against the sensitive skin just above the button of his jeans.

Dean lifted himself up and off of Castiel, sitting back on his knees and suddenly Castiel's fingers were working at the button of his pants, pulling it through the hole of the fabric and grasping the zipper, tugging it down.

“Off,” he instructed, expecting Dean to finish the task. Dean made quick work of them, pushing them along with his boxers down past his hips and then wriggling free of them, kicking them to the floor with the other discarded items. Throughout this removal, Castiel worked on removing his own clothes and when Dean turned back to face him, they were both completely naked.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, his voice questioning, wanting more than anything to continue but unsure of exactly how.

Recognition passed over Castiel's face and he gestured towards the dresser standing against the wall to the right of his bed. Dean thanked whichever deity had preordained the smallness of Castiel's room so that he only had to reach over to pull the top drawer open and quickly ransack its contents for a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

Castiel was relentless throughout the entire process, his large hands grabbing at and squeezing Dean's flesh wherever he could reach. Dean hurriedly ripped the plastic wrapping of the condom open, rolling it down onto his cock before flicking the cap of the lube back and tipping some of the slick liquid onto the fingers of his right hand. Castiel had stopped his groping, instead staring up at Dean with lusty eyes as his legs widened invitingly.

Dean pushed himself in between Castiel's legs, his left hand massaging up his thigh teasingly, moving threateningly close to his cock and then changing direction. His other hand dipped low, down to the center of Castiel's body and when his lube slicked fingers pressed against the waiting, tight entrance there, Castiel let out a low sound that seemed to Dean to be a lot like a whine. It encouraged him to continue, wanting to hear more of the delicious sounds that Castiel might make. He encircled the rim, barely dipping the tip of his finger inside before moving to massage at the surrounding flesh once more.

Dean was surprised with how at ease he was, considering that the very thought of even kissing Castiel had been greatly embarrassing to him not even days ago. He was definitely out of a zone he was familiar with, and he had little idea of what he was doing, but he was doing it anyway. And he was loving it. Castiel's body was, well, it was amazing. Lean, muscled, firm, skin glowing with a light tan. And his hip bones. Dean could write poetry about Castiel's hip bones.

He pressed his finger in again, moving further past of the rim this time, feeling Castiel's inner walls clench around him.

“Dean, please,” a gruff voice interrupted Dean's trance. The words shot through him in electric waves, shooting straight to his cock. He began moving his finger in and out, watching Castiel's reactions closely.

“More,” he demanded. Dean wanted to tease him, wanted to make him squirm and beg under Dean's touches, but the desire to give Castiel what he wanted was too great and he pushed in a second finger. He knew he made the right choice when he was rewarded with a moan, Castiel's mouth falling open as Dean's free hand continued rubbing up and down his thigh. Castiel's hips began to rock, ass moving with the intruding fingers.

“Open me up, Dean,” Castiel groaned, his own hand traveling down, long fingers wrapping around his cock to stroke in time with Dean's thrusts into him. Dean couldn't rightly deny him and again complied with his demands, fingers twisting, turning, opening Castiel like his own personal gift from heaven.

Dean continued his administrations for several moments before curling his fingers up inside of Castiel in such a way that he suddenly bucked his hips forward, shuddering as he let out a gasp. Dean froze, terrified that he'd done something wrong but this was quickly proved wrong as Castiel looked down at him. Dean had never seen another human being with such raw desire in their eyes as the desire that was apparent in Castiel's at that moment.

“Dean, I need-” Castiel groaned, his head falling back as Dean repeated the movement of his fingers, wanting to make Castiel lose it again, “I need you to fuck me, Dean, please.”

“I- Fucking Christ, yes of course,” Dean said stupidly, random words falling from him. He had never been so turned on in his life, the shock of those particular words coming from Castiel and in a voice so _wrecked_ and _needy_ ruining all sense of calm he had remaining. He quickly grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some out into his hand, giving his condom-clad erection a few stroked before lining the tip up with Castiel's entrance, pausing when he got there to look up into the blue eyes that had started everything. The blue eyes that had first caught his attention, that had pissed him off enough that he'd had to confront them. The eyes that were now darkened with lust and yet also shining pleadingly.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

That was all the encouragement Dean needed, the head of his cock slowly penetrating past the tight, hot, slicked hole. For a moment he thought there was no way he was going to fit and then he heard the soft exhalation of breath from Castiel. The muscles clenching around him relaxed just enough to allow him to continue moving inside.

He groaned at the sensation, and even though he knew it was an incredibly loud noise he couldn't help himself. Castiel was just so _hot_ inside and he gripped Dean so tightly that he was sure he'd come in an embarrassing amount of time.

“Fuck, Cas,” he said, hands roaming up to grip Castiel's sides, holding him in place as he filled him up completely, burying himself to the hilt before pausing, letting them both adjust to the newness of the feeling. Castiel's mouth was open, eyes staring towards Dean but unfocused, eyelids fluttering shut as he began to slowly rock his hips up, clenching his inner walls.

Dean understood the unspoken request immediately, beginning to move with the gentle rocking of Castiel's hips before he started pleading with Dean for more. He was almost incoherent between the long drawn out moans and soft gasping but Dean heard what he wanted loud and clear. He slowly began pulling out and thrusting back inside, each time varying the depth. This motion elicited incredibly hot noises from Castiel who jerked his ass towards each thrust, meeting Dean with the sound of the slap of skin against skin.

Castiel's lips were still parted and Dean couldn't take it anymore as he leaned down, hands feeling their way up Castiel's chest, passing over his shoulders and past his neck to tangle themselves into his dark hair, tugging on it to pull his lips up to meet his. The kiss was hot and wet, their mouths open, tongues rolling over and around each other. Dean felt Castiel's arms wrapping around him, pulling him in closer as his hands moved up to grip his shoulders, fingernails cutting into his skin.

Dean would never have guessed that Castiel would be so vocal in the bedroom. In fact, the evidence found in every single conversation they'd ever had suggested the complete opposite. Castiel was not quiet at all. Unless Dean's mouth was covering his, tongue shoved inside, Castiel was a constant chorus of:

“Dean, yes!”

“Fuck me, Dean!”

“Oh god yes, fuck me harder!”

Dean did just that, snapping his hips forward as Castiel met him with the fervent bucking of his own hips. They were both sweating heavily now, bodies sliding against each other as they moved quickly towards climax. Dean could feel the beginning of his already forming, the familiar clenching in his lower regions forcing him to drive his cock into Castiel faster and harder, his hands moving to spread his legs out further. Dean pressed his thighs back and Castiel let out a choked scream as the head of Dean's cock brushed against the special spot within him, making his back arch off of the bed and his body shudder with pleasure.

Dean continued thrusting in at the same angle, loving how Castiel lost it at every stroke, his entire body reacting. A constant string of unintelligible words flowed past Castiel's lips, praises and curses mixing with gasping sobs. Dean could feel the orgasm bubbling within Castiel's body, and though he'd never done it before he found himself reaching in between their writhing forms to wrap his hand around Castiel's cock, thumb rubbing over the tip before fisting him, stroking hard and fast while he continued thrusting.

It didn't take long and soon Castiel was driven over the edge, a sound like no other Dean had ever heard bursting from him. Dean couldn't take it anymore after that. He had already been on sensory overload and as Castiel bucked, writhing and arching below him in the intense throws of his climax, a hot rush of come spilling out against both of their stomachs, Dean felt himself let go. He grasped Castiel's hips once more, trying to ground himself somehow as he came, an orgasm like no other he'd ever experienced ripping through him.

Moments later, he lay panting next to Castiel, lacking all ability to speak. He knew he'd been loud, that he'd yelled or screamed or simply groaned embarrassingly loud as he'd climaxed but he found it hard to care as he came down off of the high of it. It took him some time to remember where he was and when he did he looked over to the man next to him.

Castiel was laying still, eyes closed, but he wasn't asleep. Although his lips were swollen, his neck was forming bruises, and his hair was a tangled mess, he looked _peaceful_. Dean found himself smiling as he reached over, his hand gently stroking the side of Castiel's face as he scooted his body closer. Every inch of his skin was tingling, oversensitive, and his mental state must have suffered the same effects because as Castiel's lips curled upward in a smile of true contentment, Dean felt overwhelmed. If he hadn't already known, he knew right then.

“I love you, Cas,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion or from the noises he'd just made, he wasn't sure.

Castiel opened his eyes, then, blue eyes sparkling.

“I love you, too,” he said before propping himself onto his elbow to press his lips against Dean's.


	11. Eleven

Dean and Castiel, despite their intense desire not to, finally managed to get out of bed to clean up, Dean putting the lube back into the top drawer (making sure to place it where it could be most easily located in a hurry) and Castiel showing Dean to the shower. Dean climbed in, turning the 'H' knob to the right and giving a grateful moan as the hot water cascaded over him.

Castiel. He'd just had sex with Castiel. A shock of delight pulsed through him as he remembered the events of the past couple of hours. The confession, the kiss, the wild passionate... He was almost forced to turn the faucet labeled with a rusty 'C' when his cock began to twitch in interest as the image of Castiel's open mouthed, head thrown back, shuddering climax came to mind. He took a deep breath and shoved it away, instead focusing on the moments before all of that had happened.

“I love Castiel,” he whispered, the sound of water coursing through pipes and pattering against the bottom of the tub swallowing his voice. The feeling that swelled within him, within his heart, was enough for him to choke on. Truthfully, he could admit without any exaggeration that he'd never felt this way about anyone. Just the faint thought of Castiel's eyes, his voice, the way it sounded when he'd told Dean he didn't give a damn that he was broken, filled his heart to bursting.

He smiled through the rivulets of water trailing down his face.

* * *

 

After Dean was finished with his shower he redressed, pulling on the jeans and t-shirt he'd gotten from his laundry basket at Bobby's that morning and exited the bathroom. Castiel told him he could look around if he wanted to while Castiel took his turn in the bathroom. He'd also told Dean that if he really wanted to, he could leave and go home. The look of pleading in Castiel's expressive eyes was so intense that even if Dean _had_ wanted to go, which of course he hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to.

He heard the sound of something buzzing and immediately connected it with the sound his phone made when it was on its vibrate setting. Following the low noise, he tracked it down to where it lay on the floor off to the side of the door to Castiel's room and picked it up, looking at the screen.

_How did your test go?_ It was a text from Sam.

“Sammy,” he thought out loud, the sounds of Castiel showering fading out. Suddenly, he found himself wondering what Sam would think of all of this. His brother was very accepting of other people. In fact, there had been several moments in the past where Dean had angrily accused him of being _overly_ accepting. Surely Sam would like Castiel, surely he would accept that his older brother had some weird relationship with this strange man in a bizarre trench coat...who openly stared at people...who had openly stared at _him_ for days in the library...

Dean groaned, covering his face with a hand as panic welled up within his stomach. The thought of Sam's disapproval brought his mood down, plummeting from heaven back to earth in only a few seconds. He wandered over to the counter in Castiel's tiny kitchen, leaning up against it as he stared at the screen of the phone in his hands, sifting through his thoughts. How would he tell his brother? Just come right on out and say it?

_So yeah I fell in love with this weird guy who wears a creepy fucking trench coat and lives in a pile of books, Sam, and barely ever talks but mostly just stares._

Well, that obviously wasn't going to work. He rubbed his hand over his face, willing his brain to come up with something that made more sense, something that really explained what he was feeling and how it had gotten to this point. Dean had always been horrible with words, so he knew this was going to be hard. Not to mention the question that he knew Sam would ask, the question that made him a little uneasy because he honestly didn't know the answer.

_So, you're gay?_

His immediate thought was screaming at the top of his lungs, _NO_ , but really how could he say that after what had happened just a couple of hours ago? So was he bisexual then? He liked girls _and_ guys? That didn't seem like the right answer either.

The sound of the water turning off in the bathroom brought Dean out of his thoughts, but the panic and the dread remained. All of this was so new to him. The clenching in his heart was familiar, but it wasn't caused by the same emotion. Before, it was fear that caused his heart to race and a deep, dark sadness that made it feel as if it were ceasing its beat; now, though, it was something else entirely.

When Castiel emerged from the bathroom clad in only a towel, water dripping from his tangled mess of hair, Dean could feel a majority of the bad feelings hissing out of him like air from a balloon. The space was immediately replaced with arousal. Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean's expression, his hand gripping the towel to prevent it from falling.

“Are you alright, Dean?” he asked, and Dean could hear the tone of absolute sincerity in the deep voice even as Dean's eyes traveled greedily over the damp cloth clinging to the contours of Castiel's body

“I-,” Dean paused to clear his throat as he stood, “I'm fine.” He slowly approached the nearly naked Castiel, feeling predatory in his movements.

“You look really good, Cas,” he whispered into Castiel's ear as he finally reached him, one hand covering Castiel's where it still gripped the thin cotton towel.

To Dean's surprise, Castiel grinned, and the sight of it nearly made him melt. All fear, all panic, and all dread disappeared.

* * *

 

Castiel sat on top of Dean, straddling him in between his legs. No sunlight streamed into the room this time, it was late now and dark out, but Castiel looked just as enticing under the artificial light coming from his bedroom lamp. His skin glowed, the light reflecting off of the sheen of sweat that had formed as they explored each others bodies for the second time, far more thorough than their previous session that had been hurried by their desperation.

Dean was somewhat terrified of the experience he was having, of the closeness that he currently felt with this man who was sliding his hands across the entirety of his skin, discovering where Dean most liked to be touched, where he was ticklish and what made him moan. The other part of him, the part of him that was currently in the lead, was excited because as Castiel was discovering Dean, Dean was also discovering Castiel.

Dean decided he loved the smooth expanse of skin covering Castiel's back, stroking it, massaging it and listening to Castiel's small appreciative noises. He also loved letting his hands travel down further, gliding over the curve of Castiel's ass, squeezing the flesh there and almost laughing when Castiel tried to wriggle away. He enjoyed the taste of the skin just below Castiel's ear and kept revisiting it again and again, leaving a dark red mark that Castiel was going to have to cover or make an excuse for over the next several days.

Castiel pulled his neck from Dean's lips, replacing it with his own for a brief moment before trailing a series of hot, open mouthed kisses across Dean's jawline and down over his throat. Dean hummed with pleasure at the feeling, his body heating up considerably as Castiel's mouth dropped even further.

Dean had to suppress a moan as Castiel's mouth moved to cover one of his nipples, teeth teasing at the sensitive flesh there before his slick tongue slid out to soothe. Castiel gave the same attention to his other nipple before slowly climbing off of him, the bed dipping as he moved on it. Dean opened his eyes that he hadn't even realized he'd shut to see what was happening. Why had Castiel stopped in the middle of something so wonderful?

Castiel was at the foot of the bed, hands sliding up in between Dean's legs to nudge his thighs apart and wriggle his way in between them. That was when Dean finally understood what was about to happen and at his sharp intake of breath, Castiel gave a low chuckle, the sexy grin from earlier appearing on his face once more.

Castiel's hands massaged the sensitive skin where Dean's leg met his torso, hot breath teasing as Dean widened his legs further in silent pleading. This agonizing torture went on for what seemed like forever to Dean until suddenly Castiel's tongue curled around the head of his cock, his eyes focused on Dean's face as he took it into his mouth.

Dean felt his fingers clutching at the sheet beneath him, his body taut, hips straining against his attempts to keep from jerking up into Castiel's mouth. He could hardly contain the noises his body desperately wanted to make and when Castiel began to take him in further, not stopping until he was at the very base of Dean's cock, he could hardly be blamed for finally letting his head fall back and a long, embarrassing groan to fall from his parted lips.

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean heard himself say in a strained voice, words barely making their way out coherently. He wanted so badly to move his hips, to thrust, but he didn't want to hurt Castiel so he forced himself to stay unmoving. But it was so _hot_ , so deliciously wet and warm and Dean could hardly take it. This wasn't going to last very long. He let his hand travel to Castiel's head to slip his fingers in the dark hair there, gripping lightly.

Castiel lifted his mouth off of Dean until his lips were wrapped around the very tip once more before beginning to bob up and down, slow at first, then faster, his hands massaging Dean's balls. Dean felt more than heard the stream of unintelligible curses and calls of Castiel's name breaking out from the back of his throat, his eyes trying desperately to stay open and watch Castiel's beautiful mouth stretch around his cock. And then Castiel took Dean's cock deep into his throat again, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, gripping Dean like a vice before pulling away and repeating the motion a second time, a third time, until Dean couldn't take it anymore.

“Cas! I-I'm clo-,” he clawed at the sheets, sucking in air through his teeth, “I'm gonna-” Cas interrupted any and all attempts Dean made at a warning by suddenly moaning around his cock, the vibrations of his vocal cords sending Dean straight over the edge.

Dean's eyes shut tight as something bordering on the line of a scream was wrenched from him, his back arching, hands flying from Castiel's hair to claw wildly at the sheet as he spilled his release into Castiel's waiting mouth. Castiel sucked hard, swallowing every drop, tongue cleaning up anything that he missed once he let Dean's cock fall from his mouth.

Dean's eyes opened as Castiel hastily moved back up his body, licking his own beautifully stretched lips before pressing them passionately to Dean's. Castiel was writhing against him, body hot and bothered in the aftermath of what he'd just done to Dean, tongue thrusting into Dean's mouth as the desire to climax consumed him. One of Castiel's hands tangled itself in the hair at the back of Dean's head, the other wrapped around his cock, jerking wildly.

Dean reached down in between their bodies, wrapping his own hand firmly around Castiel's aching cock and giving it several pumps before Castiel gasped, pulling his mouth away from Dean's lips to bury his face into Dean's neck, biting down on the skin he found there as hot come spurted from him, coating Dean's stomach.

As they came down from climax, Castiel dropped to Dean's side as they both steadied their breathing. Dean was the first to speak.

“That was,” he started, trying to find the words as Castiel pulled him closer, “fucking incredible.” It wasn't exactly what he was looking for but it also felt appropriate. He had never experienced a blow job quite like that one and the way that it turned Castiel on like it had was enough to make his thoughts start to drift back into the naughty place they'd just left.

“You looked a bit concerned earlier,” Castiel commented as they nestled close together, bringing Dean back out of his dirty mind. “Well,” he added, looking to Dean with a small, knowing grin, “before you saw me in the towel.” His voice was hoarse, the result of having a cock buried in his throat, Dean guessed.

Dean laughed, face turning light pink. “You're very distracting in a towel,” he admitted, smiling sheepishly, “And I was just checking my phone. I had a text from Sam.” He found himself running a hand through Castiel's hair, watching it move under his touch.

“Oh, is everything alright?” Castiel asked, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

He thought about the question, letting it roll around his mind for a second before answering with, “Everything's fine.” When he said it, it really didn't feel like lying and as Castiel's arms slid around his middle, pulling Dean up against his chest to be as close as possible, he realized that it was because it wasn't a lie. Sure, he was still worried about telling Sam and Bobby about all of this, but as he buried his face into the crook of Castiel's neck, inhaling his scent, he only knew that this was too _right_ to be considered wrong. If they didn't like it at first, they would come to.

* * *

 

When Dean woke, it was with a smile on his face. He couldn't recall a single time since after his mother had passed away when he'd woken up with this feeling and honestly, he wasn't even sure what it was.

The warm body laying next to Dean twitched a little, scooting a small distance to come in closer to him. The smile that he woke up with widened on his face, a strong feeling of contentment stealing over him as his arms encircled Castiel's sleepy form.


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at Bobby's.

As is turned out, Dean had absolutely nothing to be afraid of. How he could have thought even for a second that Sam or Bobby would be upset with him for his choice in a relationship was laughable once the truth was out. Not to say there wasn't any surprise involved.

Sam had looked at Dean's face for a long while after he admitted to his and Castiel's _thing_ (an articulate, emotional affair consisting of “um...remember that weird trench coat guy? I uh...well..I'm um...,” followed by lot of stuttered unintelligible words and a long stretch of silence before “I'm with him. Uh...he's with me. We're um...we're with each other.”). Sam stayed quiet, trying to gauge whether or not Dean was being serious before noticing the blazing red of his older brother's face and realizing it was an honest confession. Sam was a bit surprised, he had to admit, but at this news he smiled and congratulated his brother on finding someone (but not before having a mental epiphany and exclaiming “Oh! That's why you've been acting like an emotional circus freak at home!”).

Dean might have guessed Sam wouldn't disown him, but Bobby's reaction completely floored him, surprising the hell out of him. He said nothing at first, simply eyed Dean up and down in the same suspicious way that Sam had to see if this was real before turning back to the newspaper he was reading and giving a non-committal grunt.

“When am I meeting this kid?” he'd asked in the same tone he would use when asking when Dean would be at the garage to work in the morning.

“I...what?” Dean sputtered, breath coming out all at once after he'd been holding it in anticipation of a blow up.

“Clean your ears, son, I _said_ when am I meeting this,” he gestured loosely in the air, “ _Cab...sheel..._ person?”

“Castiel,” Sam corrected.

Bobby looked up at Sam and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. _Cas-tee-ell_. When is he coming to meet your family? If he thinks he can avoid that then I'd dump him right this second Dean.”

Dean was amazed and relieved to find that neither Sam _nor_ Bobby asked the question he had been dreading the most. “ _Are you gay?_ ”. He still hadn't come up with a clear answer for himself in his own head, much less an understandable version of this answer to explain to others. It seemed Sam and Bobby didn't need an explanation, just as Castiel and Dean hadn't needed one. They simply accepted that this was how they felt and ran with it.

That's what love was, Dean had realized that night before dialing Castiel's number and inviting him to dinner.

 

And that is how Castiel came to be in Dean's driveway, nervously brushing his pants and straightening the rest of his clothes as Dean walked towards him.

“First off, Bobby isn't going to give a single shit if your clothes are nice, so you can stop doing that,” Dean said in way of greeting, grabbing Castiel's hands and squeezing them in his own. He stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel's lips and whispering, “They're watching from the window or I'd show you just exactly how happy I am to see you.”

Castiel's cheeks pinked as Dean smirked, gesturing towards the front door.

Sam beamed and welcomed Castiel with the friendliness of an excitable puppy, shaking his hand earnestly and exclaiming how happy he was that Castiel had come to dinner. Castiel smiled softly, accepting the greeting quietly before turning towards where Bobby stood. Both men looked each other over, assessing one another quietly and with great speed. Dean looked over at Sam whose smile had faltered slightly.

_This might be a very, very long dinner_ , Dean thought.

 

* * *

 

It turned out much to everyone's surprise that Castiel happened to know a lot about guns (though when thinking back after the dinner Dean didn't know why he was at all surprised considering Castiel's knowledge of pretty much everything). Bobby and Castiel spent the majority of the meal talking about the American Civil War, sharing their opinions on different revolvers and rifles, war tactics, all while Sam and Dean stared from the other side of the table, gawking at the display as they shoveled steak and mashed potatoes into their mouths. The most amazing part of this exchange was that the two agreed on almost everything. Dean knew they weren't just putting on a show because both Castiel and Bobby were stubborn and would assert their opinions into death if necessary. So, the logical assumption was that they honestly got along perfectly.

They got along.

Dean felt like his chest was expanding. His heart felt so _full_ as he watched Castiel and Bobby having this random conversation about guns and war, saw Bobby's approval written clearly in the features of his face and Castiel melt into the ease of academic debate. Near the end of the dessert Bobby shot Dean a look that said very plainly “I approve” and Dean thought he might explode with the relief of it as he reached under the table, grabbing Castiel's hand in his. It was going to be fine. It was going to be perfect. He could be happy with Castiel _and_ with his family all at once. How could everything come together so wonderfully? For him. For Dean. Was the universe finally trying to make up for the shit storm his life had been until now? He didn't care he just knew that he had to hold tight to this perfect moment for as long as he could and appreciate it in its entirety.

When dinner ended and it was time for Castiel to head home, he gave polite goodbyes to Sam and Bobby, thanking them for the meal and letting them know he was happy to have met them before allowing Dean to walk him out to his car. Castiel approached the driver's side door and turned to say something but before he could utter a single word, Dean grasped him around his waist and lifted him in the sir, beaming as he landed kisses all over Castiel's perfect face and neck. Castiel smiled, letting out a soft trickle of laughter that nearly took Dean's breath away.

“Why...how are you so perfect?” Dean asked, kissing Castiel again as he placed him back on the ground. “Thank you, Cas. Thank you so much for tonight. I can tell Bobby really liked you. How do you know so much about guns?”

Castiel reached up, gently stroking the side of Dean's face. “I love you.”

Dean leaned forward and gave Castiel a deep, meaningful kiss, moving his lips across his new lover's with a significance that they could both feel deep within them. When he pulled away, Castiel whispered a soft “Goodnight” and brought his keys out of his pocket, opening the car door and slipping inside. Dean gave a small wave and the corner of Castiel's lips lifted slightly as he put the car into drive and turned out onto the street.

 

Sam smiled knowingly as Dean re-entered the house. Dean lifted his eyebrows and shrugged as if to say “hey, say it if you're going to say it”. Sam gave a laugh and shook his head.

“You seem happy Dean,” Sam said finally.

“I am,” Dean replied, not a hint of hesitation in his voice.

“I like him, you know, I really do. He's kind of quiet but that's okay. He makes you smile and I,” Sam paused, looking at Dean with all of the sincerity in the world, “I haven't really seen you do that very often. It makes me happy that you're happy.”

Dean felt like he could cry then. He wasn't going to, he would never cry in front of Sammy ever again, but right now he really could.

“Thanks, Sammy,” he said instead.

After Sam left the room to go to bed, Dean moved into the kitchen to face Bobby. Before he could say a damn thing, Bobby began talking.

“I dunno why but you're obviously interested in gaining my approval of this guy, so I'll come right out and say it. He's a man of few words, but he gets his point across. He's smart as all hell and can keep up his side in a conversation. He didn't take his phone out even once and he looked me straight in the eye. Do you understand what I'm saying, son?”

Dean thought he did, but he remained unmoving, not speaking.

“I'm saying that yeah, I approve. You want it, you got it. I approve. I approve a whole damn lot. When you were out there with him your face lit up like a god damned Christmas tree and honestly, he could be dumb as a pile of rocks and I'd still approve if he can do that. You haven't had a whole lot to be happy about, I know it. With your mom and then your dad, I hear you at night Dean,” Dean opened his mouth to protest at this, but Bobby waved his hand to silence him, “but I ain't gonna talk about that other than to say you haven't been waking up the past month or even more. If Castiel is the reason for that, and I think he is, then that's enough for me.”

Dean felt tears prick at his eyes.

Bobby heaved a disgusted sigh. “Don't start with the chick-flick stuff Dean I'm just tellin' you like it is. Now I'm going to go to bed. It's been a long day and I better see you tomorrow morning at the garage for the start of another one.”

Dean nodded, still unable to speak as Bobby got up and walked to his bedroom.


End file.
